RALPH 
CONNOR 


•• 


O 


XX  »— 7 

^ 


THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY 


Of  GALir  IJM1AKY.  W* 


BY     RALPH     CONNOR 
noth  Thousand 

T  H  E    S  KY    PI  LOT 

A  Tale  of  the  Foothills. 

Illustrated  izmo,  Cloth,  $1.25. 

RALPH  CONNOR'S  "  Black  Rock "  was  good,  but 
"The  Sky  Pilot"  is  better.  The  matter  which  he  gives 
us  is  real  life;  virile,  true,  tender,  humorous,  pathetic, 
spiritual,  wholesome.  His  style,  fresh,  crisp  and  terse, 
accords  with  the  Western  life,  which  he  understands. 
Henceforth  the  foothills  of  the  Canadian  Rockies  will 
probably  be  associated  in  many  a  mind  with  the  name 
of  "  RALPH  CONNOR." — The  Outlook. 

25oth  Thousand 

BLACK    ROCK 

A  Tale  of  the  Selkirks. 
Illustrated  izmo,  Cloth,  $1.25. 

RALPH  CONNOR  is  some  man's  notn  de plume.  The 
world  will  insist  on  knowing  whose.  He  has  gone  into 
the  heart  of  the  Northwest  Canadian  mountains  and 
has  painted  for  us  a  picture  of  life  in  the  lumber  and 
mining  -  camps  of  surpassing  merit.  With  perfect 
wholesomeness,  with  exquisite  delicacy,  with  entire 
fidelity,  with  truest  pathos,  with  freshest  humor,  he  has 
delineated  character,  has  analyzed  motives  and  emo- 
tions, and  has  portrayed  life.  Some  of  his  characters 
deserve  immortality,  so  faithfully  are  they  created. — 
St.  Louis  Globe 'Democrat. 


Fleming  H.  Revel]  Company 

PUBLISHERS 


THE  MAN  FROM 
GLENGARRY 

A  TALE  OF  THE  OTTAWA 


BY 


RALPH  CONNOR 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SKY  PILOT," 
AND  "BLACK  ROCK" 


FLEMING     H.     REVELL      COMPANY 

CHICAGO,     NEW     YORK,     TORONTO 

M   C   M   I 


COPYRIGHT,  MCMI,  BY 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  CO. 


R.  R.  DONNELLEY  &  SONS 
COMPANY,  THE  LAKESIDE 
PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


DEDICATION 

TO    THE     MEN    OF    GLENGARRY 

WHO  IN  PATIENCE,  IN  COURAGE 

AND 

IN  THE  FEAR  OF  GOD 

ARE  HELPING  TO  BUILD  THE  EMPIRE   OF 

THE  CANADIAN  WEST 

THIS   BOOK   IS   HUMBLY   DEDICATED 


2130081 


PREFACE 

The  solid  forests  of  Glengarry  have  vanished,  and 
with  the  forests  the  men  who  conquered  them.  The 
manner  of  life  and  the  type  of  character  to  be  seen  in 
those  early  days  have  gone  too,  and  forever.  It  is 
part  of  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  so  picture  these 
men  and  their  times  that  they  may  not  drop  quite  out 
of  mind.  The  men  are  worth  remembering.  They 
carried  the  marks  of  their  blood  in  their  fierce  pas- 
sions, their  courage,  their  loyalty;  and  of  the  forest  in 
their  patience,  their  resourcefulness,  their  self-reliance. 
But  deeper  than  all,  the  mark  that  reached  down  to 
their  hearts'  core  was  that  of  their  faith,  for  in  them 
dwelt  the  fear  of  God.  Their  religion  may  have  been 
narrow,  but  no  narrower  than  the  moulds  of  their 
lives.  It  was  the  biggest  thing  in  them.  It  may 
have  taken  a  somber  hue  from  their  gloomy  forests, 
but  by  reason  of  a  sweet,  gracious  presence  dwelling 
among  them  it  grew  in  grace  and  sweetness  day  by 
day. 

In  the  Canada  beyond  the  Lakes,  where  men  are 
making  empire,  the  sons  of  these  Glengarry  men  are 
found.  And  there  such  men  are  needed.  For  not 
wealth,  not  enterprise,  not  energy,  can  build  a  nation 
into  sure  greatness,  but  men,  and  only  men  with  the 
fear  of  God  in  their  hearts,  and  with  no  other.  And 
to  make  this  clear  is  also  a  part  of  the  purpose  of  this 
book. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  OPEN  RIVER n 

II     VENGEANCE  is  MINE 30 

III  THE  MANSE  IN  THE  BUSH  ....  42 

IV  THE  RIDE  FOR  LIFE 51 

V  FORGIVE  Us  OUR  DEBTS    ....  58 

VI     A  NEW  FRIEND 74 

VII     MAIMIE 92 

VIII     THE  SUGARING-OFF 103 

IX  A  SABBATH  DAY'S  WORK    .         .         .         .118 

X  THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  SHANTYMEN    .  149 

XI     THE  WAKE 166 

XII     SEED-TIME 185 

XIII  THE  LOGGING  BEE 197 

XIV  SHE  WILL  NOT  FORGET       ....  223 
XV     THE  REVIVAL 240 

XVI  AND  THE  GLORY         .        .        .        .        .  263 

XVII  LENOIR'S  NEW  MASTER      ....  277 

XVIII  HE  is  NOT  OF  MY  KIND    .         .         .         .  308 

XIX  ONE  GAME  AT  A  TIME        ....  325 

XX  HER  CLINGING  ARMS          .        .        .        .  341 

XXI  I  WILL  REMEMBER       .....  359 

XXII  FORGET  THAT  I  LOVED  You       .         .         .  379 

XXIII  A  GOOD,  TRUE  FRIEND-      ....  407 

XXIV  THE  WEST 431 

XXV  GLENGARRY  FOREVER          ....  449 


THE     MAN     FROM 
GLENGARRY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    OPEN  RIVER 

The  winter  had  broken  early  and  the  Scotch  River 
was  running  ice-free  and  full  from  bank  to  bank. 
There  was  still  snow  in  the  woods,  and  with  good 
sleighing  and  open  rivers  every  day  was  golden  to  the 
lumbermen  who  had  stuff  to  get  down  to  the  big 
water.  A  day  gained  now  might  save  weeks  at  a 
chute  farther  down,  where  the  rafts  would  crowd  one 
another  and  strive  for  right  of  way. 

Dan  Murphy  was  mightily  pleased  with  himself  and 
with  the  bit  of  the  world  about  him,  for  there  lay  his 
winter's  cut  of  logs  in  the  river  below  him  snug  and 
secure  and  held  tight  by  a  boom  across  the  mouth,  just 
where  it  flowed  into  the  Nation.  In  a  few  days  he 
would  have  his  crib  made,  and  his  outfit  ready  to  start 
for  the  Ottawa  mills.  He  was  sure  to  be  ahead  of  the 
big  timber  rafts  that  took  up  so  much  space,  and 
whose  crews  with  unbearable  effrontery  considered 
themselves  the  aristocrats  of  the  river. 

Yes,  it  was  a  pleasant  and  satisfying  sight,  some 
three  solid  miles  of  logs  boomed  at  the  head  of  the  big 
water.  Suddenly  Murphy  turned  his  face  up  the  river. 

"What's  that  now,  d'ye  think,  LeNware?"  he 
asked. 

LeNoir,   or  "LeNware,"  as  they  all  called  it  in 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

that  country,  was  Dan  Murphy's  foreman,  and  as 
he  himself  said,  "for  haxe,  for  hit  (eat),  for  fight  de 
boss  on  de  reever  Hottawa!  by  Gar!"  Louis  LeNoir 
was  a  French-Canadian,  handsome,  active,  hardy,  and 
powerfully  built.  He  had  come  from  the  New  Bruns- 
wick woods  some  three  years  ago,  and  had  wrought 
and  fought  his  way,  as  he  thought,  against  all  rivals 
to  the  proud  position  of  "boss  on  de  reever,"  the  top- 
most pinnacle  of  a  lumberman's  ambition.  It  was 
something  to  see  LeNoir  "run  a  log"  across  the  river 
and  back;  that  is,  he  would  balance  himself  upon  a 
floating  log,  and  by  spinning  it  round,  would  send  it 
whither  he  would.  At  Murphy's  question  LeNoir 
stood  listening  with  bent  head  and  open  mouth. 
Down  the  river  came  the  sound  of  singing.  "Don-no 
me!  Ah  oui!  be  dam!  Das  Macdonald  gang  for 
sure!  De  men  from  Glengarrie,  les  diables!  Dey 
not  hout  de  reever  yet."  His  boss  went  off  into  a 
volley  of  oaths — 

"They'll  be  wanting  the  river  now,  an'  they're 
divils  to  fight." 

"We  give  em  de  full  belly,  heh?  Bon!"  said  Le- 
Noir, throwing  back  his  head.  His  only  unconquered 
rival  on  the  river  was  the  boss  of  the  Macdonald 
gang. 

Ho  ro,  mo  nighean  donn  bhoidheach, 
Hi-ri,  mo  nighean  donn  bhoidheach, 
Mo  chaileag,  laghach,  bhoidheach, 
Cha  phosainn  ach  thu. 

Down  the  river  came  the  strong,  clear  chorus  of 
men's  voices,  and  soon  a  "pointer"  pulled  by  six  stal- 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

wart  men  with  a  lad  in  the  stern  swung  round  the 
bend  into  view.     A  single  voice  took  up  the  song — 

'S  ann  tha  mo  run's  na  beanntaibh, 
Far  bheil  mo  ribhinn  ghreannar, 
Mar  ros  am  fasach  shamhraidh 
An  gleann  fad  o  shuil. 

After  the  verse  the  full  chorus  broke  forth  again — 
Ho  ro,  mo  nighean,  etc. 

Swiftly  the  pointer  shot  down  the  current,  the 
swaying  bodies  and  swinging  oars  in  perfect  rhythm 
with  the  song  that  rose  and  fell  with  melancholy  but 
musical  cadence.  The  men  on  the  high  bank  stood 
looking  down  upon  the  approaching  singers.  "You 
know  dem  fellers?"  said  LeNoir.  Murphy  nodded. 
"Ivery  divil  iv  thim — Big  Mack  Cameron,  Dannie 
Ross,  Finlay  Campbell — the  redheaded  one — the  next 
I  don't  know,  and  yes!  be  dad!  there's  that  blanked 
Yankee,  Yankee  Jim,  they  call  him,  an'  bad  luck  till 
him.  The  divil  will  have  to  take  the  poker  till  him, 
for  he'll  bate  him  wid  his  fists,  and  so  he  will — and 
that  big  black  divil  is  Black  Hugh,  the  brother  iv  the 
boss  Macdonald.  He'll  be  up  in  the  camp  beyant, 
and  a  mighty  lucky  thing  for  you,  LeNoir,  he  is." 

"Bah!"  spat  LeNoir,  "Dat  beeg  Macdonald  I  mak 
heem  run  like  one  leetle  sheep,  one  tarn  at  de  long 
Sault,  bah !  No  good ! ' '  LeNoir 's  contempt  for  Mac- 
donald was  genuine  and  complete.  For  two  years  he 
had  tried  to  meet  the  boss  Macdonald,  but  his  rival 
had  always  avoided  him. 

Meantime,  the  pointer  came  swinging  along.  As 
it  turned  the  point  the  boy  uttered  an  exclamation — 

13 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Look  there!"  The  song  and  the  rowing  stopped 
abruptly ;  the  big,  dark  man  stood  up  and  gazed  down 
the  river,  packed  from  bank  to  bank  with  the  brown 
saw-logs;  deep  curses  broke  from  him.  Then  he 
caught  sight  of  the  men  on  the  bank.  A  word  of 
command  and  the  pointer  shot  into  the  shore,  and  the 
next  moment  Macdonald  Dubh,  or  Black  Hugh,  as  he 
was  sometimes  called,  followed  by  his  men,  was  climb- 
ing up  the  steep  bank. 

"What  the  blank,  blank,  do  these  logs  mean, 
Murphy?"  he  demanded,  without  pause  for  salutation. 

"Tis  a  foine  avenin'  Misther  Macdonald,"  said 
Murphy,  blandly  offering  his  hand,  "an'  Hiven  bliss 
ye." 

Macdonald  checked  himself  with  an  effort  and 
reluctantly  shook  hands  with  Murphy  and  LeNoir, 
whom  he  slightly  knew.  "It  is  a  fery  goot  evening, 
indeed,"  he  said,  in  as  quiet  a  voice  as  he  could 
command,  "but  I  am  inquiring  about  these  logs." 

"Shure,  an'  it  is  a  dhry  night,  and  onpolite  to 
kape  yez  talking  here.  Come  in  wid  yez,"  and  much 
against  his  will  Black  Hugh  followed  Murphy  to  the 
tavern,  the  most  pretentious  of  a  group  of  log  build- 
ings— once  a  lumber  camp — which  stood  back  a  little 
distance  from  the  river,  and  about  which  Murphy's 
men,  some  sixty  of  them,  were  now  camped. 

The  tavern  was  full  of  Murphy's  gang,  a  motley 
crew,  mostly  French  Canadians  and  Irish,  just  out 
of  the  woods  and  ready  for  any  devilment  that 
promised  excitement.  Most  of  them  knew  by  sight, 
and  all  by  reputation,  Macdonald  and  his  gang,  for 

'4 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

from  the  farthest  reaches  of  the  Ottawa  down  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  Quebec  the  Macdonald  gang  of  Glen- 
garry men  was  famous.  They  came,  most  of  them, 
from  that  strip  of  country  running  back  from  the  St. 
Lawrence  through  Glengarry  County,  known  as  the 
Indian  Lands — once  an  Indian  reservation.  They 
were  sons  of  the  men  who  had  come  from  the  high- 
lands and  islands  of  Scotland  in  the  early  years  of  the 
last  century.  Driven  from  homes  in  the  land  of  their 
fathers,  they  had  set  themselves  with  indomitable  faith 
and  courage  to  hew  from  the  solid  forest  homes  for 
themselves  and  their  children  that  none  might  take 
from  them.  These  pioneers  were  bound  together  by 
ties  of  blood,  but  also  by  bonds  stronger  than  those 
of  blood.  Their  loneliness,  their  triumphs,  their  sor- 
rows, born  of  their  common  life-long  conflict  with  the 
forest  and  its  fierce  beasts,  knit  them  in  bonds  close 
and  enduring.  The  sons  born  to  them  and  reared  in 
the  heart  of  the  pine  forests  grew  up  to  witness  that 
heroic  struggle  with  stern  nature  and  to  take  their 
part  in  it.  And  mighty  men  they  were.  Their  life 
bred  in  them  hardiness  of  frame,  alertness  of  sense, 
readiness  of  resource,  endurance,  superb  self-reliance, 
a  courage  that  grew  with  peril,  and  withal  a  certain 
wildness  which  at  times  deepened  into  ferocity.  By 
their  fathers  the  forest  was  dreaded  and  hated,  but 
the  sons,  with  rifles  in  hand,  trod  its  pathless  stretches 
without  fear,  and  with  their  broad-axes  they  took  toll 
of  their  ancient  foe.  For  while  in  spring  and  summer 
they  farmed  their  narrow  fields,  and  rescued  new  lands 
from  the  brute;  in  winter  they  sought  the  forest,  and 

15 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

back  on  their  own  farms  or  in  "the  shanties"  they  cut 
saw-logs,  or  made  square  timber,  their  only  source  of 
wealth.  The  shanty  life  of  the  early  fifties  of  last 
century  was  not  the  luxurious  thing  of  to-day.  It  was 
full  of  privation,  for  the  men  were  poorly  housed  and 
fed,  and  of  peril,  for  the  making  of  the  timber  and  the 
getting  it  down  the  smaller  rivers  to  the  big  water  was 
a  work  of  hardship  and  danger.  Remote  from  the 
restraints  of  law  and  of  society,  and  living  in  wild  sur- 
roundings and  in  hourly  touch  with  danger,  small 
wonder  that  often  the  shanty-men  were  wild  and  reck- 
less. So  that  many  a  poor  fellow  in  a  single  wild 
carouse  in  Quebec,  or  more  frequently  in  some  river 
town,  would  fling  into  the  hands  of  sharks  and  harlots 
and  tavern-keepers,  with  whom  the  bosses  were  some- 
times in  league,  the  earnings  of  his  long  winter's  work, 
and  would  wake  to  find  himself  sick  and  penniless,  far 
from  home  and  broken  in  spirit. 

Of  all  the  shanty-men  of  the  Ottawa  the  men  of 
Glengarry,  and  of  Glengarry  men  Macdonald 's  gang 
were  easily  first,  and  of  the  gang  Donald  Bhain  Mac- 
donald,  or  Macdonald  More,  or  the  Big  Macdonald, 
for  he  was  variously  known,  was  not  only  the  "boss" 
but  best  and  chief.  There  was  none  like  him.  A 
giant  in  size  and  strength,  a  prince  of  broad-axe  men, 
at  home  in  the  woods,  sure-footed  and  daring  on  the 
water,  free  with  his  wages,  and  always  ready  to  drink 
with  friend  or  fight  with  foe,  the  whole  river  admired, 
feared,  or  hated  him,  while  his  own  men  followed  him 
into  the  woods,  on  to  a  jam,  or  into  a  fight  with 
equal  joyousness  and  devotion.  Fighting  was  like 

16 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

wine  to  him,  when  the  fight  was  worth  while,  and  he 
went  into  the  fights  his  admirers  were  always  arrang- 
ing for  him  with  the  easiest  good  humor  and  with  a 
smile  on  his  face.  But  Macdonald  Bhain's  carousing, 
fighting  days  came  to  an  abrupt  stop  about  three  years 
before  the  opening  of  this  tale,  for  on  one  of  his  sum- 
mer visits  to  his  home,  "The  word  of  the  Lord  in  the 
mouth  of  his  servant  Alexander  Murray,"  as  he  was 
wont  to  say,  ' '  found  him  and  he  was  a  new  man. ' '  He 
went  into  his  new  life  with  the  same  whole-souled  joy- 
ousness  as  had  marked  the  old,  and  he  announced  that 
with  the  shanty  and  the  river  he  was  "done  for  ever 
more."  But  after  the  summer's  work  was  done,  and 
the  logging  over,  and  when  the  snap  of  the  first  frost 
nipped  the  leaves  from  the  trees,  Macdonald  became 
restless.  He  took  down  his  broad-axe  and  spent 
hours  polishing  it  and  bringing  it  to  an  edge,  then  he 
put  it  in  its  wooden  sheath  and  laid  it  away.  But  the 
fever  was  upon  him,  ten  thousand  voices  from  the 
forest  were  shouting  for  him.  He  went  away  troubled 
to  his  minister.  In  an  hour  he  came  back  with  the 
old  good  humor  in  his  face,  took  down  the  broad-axe 
again,  and  retouched  it,  lovingly,  humming  the  while 
the  old  river  song  of  the  Glengarry  men — 

Ho  ro  mo  nighean,  etc. 

He  was  going  back  to  the  bush  and  to  the  biggest 
fight  of  his  life.  No  wonder  he  was  glad.  Then  his 
good  little  wife  began  to  get  ready  his  long,  heavy 
stockings,  his  thick  mits,  his  homespun  smock,  and 
other  gear,  for  she  knew  well  that  soon  she  would  be 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

alone  for  another  winter.  Before  long  the  word  went 
round  that  Macdonald  Bhain  was  for  the  shanties 
again,  and  his  men  came  to  him  for  their  orders. 

But  it  was  not  to  the  old  life  that  Macdonald  was 
going,  and  he  gravely  told  those  that  came  to  him 
that  he  would  take  no  man  who  could  not  handle  his 
axe  and  hand-spike,  and  who  could  not  behave  him- 
self. "Behaving  himself"  meant  taking  no  more 
whiskey  than  a  man  could  carry,  and  refusing  all  invi- 
tations to  fight  unless  "necessity  was  laid  upon  him." 
The  only  man  to  object  was  his  own  brother,  Mac- 
donald Dubh,  whose  temper  was  swift  to  blaze,  and 
with  whom  the  blow  was  quicker  than  the  word.  But 
after  the  second  year  of  the  new  order  even  Black 
Hugh  fell  into  line.  Macdonald  soon  became  famous 
on  the  Ottawa.  He  picked  only  the  best  men,  he  fed 
them  well,  paid  them  the  highest  wages,  and  cared 
for  their  comfort,  but  held  them  in  strictest  discipline. 
They  would  drink  but  kept  sober,  they  would  spend 
money  but  knew  how  much  was  coming  to  them. 
They  feared  no  men  even  of  "twice  their  own  heavy 
and  big,"  but  would  never  fight  except  under  neces- 
sity. Contracts  began  to  come  their  way.  They 
made  money,  and  what  was  better,  they  brought  it 
home.  The  best  men  sought  to  join  them,  but  by 
rival  gangs  and  by  men  rejected  from  their  ranks  they 
were  hated  with  deepest  heart  hatred.  But  the  men 
from  Glengarjy  knew  no  fear  and  sought  no  favor. 
They  asked  only  a  good  belt  of  pine  and  an  open 
river.  As  a  rule  they  got  both,  and  it  was  peculiarly 
maddening  to  Black  Hugh  to  find  two  or  three  miles 

18 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

of  solid  logs  between  his  timber  and  the  open  water 
of  the  Nation.  Black  Hugh  had  a  temper  fierce  and 
quick,  and  when  in  full  flame  he  was  a  man  to  avoid, 
for  from  neither  man  nor  devil  would  he  turn.  The 
only  man  who  could  hold  him  was  his  brother  Mac- 
donald  Bhain,  for  strong  man  as  he  was,  Black  Hugh 
knew  well  that  his  brother  could  with  a  single  swift 
grip  bring  him  to  his  knees. 

It  was  unfortunate  that  the  command  of  the 
party  this  day  should  have  been  Macdonald  Dubh's. 
Unfortunate,  too,  that  it  was  Dan  Murphy  and 
his  men  that  happened  to  be  blocking  the  river 
mouth.  For  the  Glengarry  men,  who  handled 
only  square  timber,  despised  the  Murphy  gang  as 
sawlog-men;  "log-rollers"  or  "mushrats"  they  called 
them,  and  hated  them  as  Irish  "Papishes"  and  French 
"Crapeaux, "  while  between  Dan  Murphy  and  Mac- 
donald Dubh  there  was  an  ancient  personal  grudge,  and 
to-day  Murphy  thought  he  had  found  his  time.  There 
were  only  six  of  the  enemy,  he  had  ten  times  the 
number  with  him,  many  of  them  eager  to  pay  off  old 
scores ;  and  besides  there  was  Louis  LeNoir  as  the ' '  Boss 
Bully"  of  the  river.  The  Frenchman  was  not  only  a 
powerful  man,  active  with  hands  and  feet,  but  he  was 
an  adept  in  all  kinds  of  fighting  tricks.  Since  coming 
to  the  Ottawa  he  had  heard  of  the  big  Macdonald,  and 
he  sought  to  meet  him.  But  Macdonald  avoided  him 
once  and  again  till  LeNoir,  having  never  known  any 
one  avoiding  a  fight  for  any  reason  other  than  fear, 
proclaimed  Macdonald  a  coward,  and  himself  "de  boss 
on  de  reever. "  Now  there  was  a  chance  of  meeting 

19 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

his  rival  and  of  forcing  a  fight,  for  the  Glengarry  camp 
could  not  be  far  away  where  the  big  Macdonald  himself 
would  be.  So  Dan  Murphy,  backed  up  with  numbers, 
and  the  boss  bully  LeNoir,  determined  that  for  these 
Macdonald  men  the  day  of  settlement  had  come.  But 
they  were  dangerous  men,  and  it  would  be  well  to  take 
all  precautions,  and  hence  his  friendly  invitation  to 
the  tavern  for  drinks. 

Macdonald  Dubh,  scorning  to  show  hesitation, 
though  he  suspected  treachery,  strode  after  Murphy  to 
the  tavern  door  and  through  the  crowd  of  shanty-men 
filling  the  room.  They  were  as  ferocious  looking  a 
lot  of  men  as  could  well  be  got  together,  even  in  that 
country  and  in  those  days — shaggy  of  hair  and  beard, 
dressed  out  in  red  and  blue  and  green  jerseys,  with 
knitted  sashes  about  their  waists,  and  red  and  blue  and 
green  tuques  on  their  heads.  Drunken  rows  were  their 
delight,  and  fights  so  fierce  that  many  a  man  came  out 
battered  and  bruised  to  death  or  to  life-long  decrepi- 
tude. They  were  sitting  on  the  benches  that  ran 
round  the  room,  or  lounging  against  the  bar  singing, 
talking,  blaspheming.  At  the  sight  of  Macdonald 
Dubh  and  his  men  there  fell  a  dead  silence,  and  then 
growls  of  recognition,  but  Murphy  was  not  yet  ready, 
and  roaring  out  "Dh-r-r-i-n-k-s,"  he  seized  a  couple 
of  his  men  leaning  against  the  bar,  and  hurling  them 
to  right  and  left,  cried,  "Ma-a-ke  room  for  yer  betth- 
ers,  be  the  powers!  Sthand  up,  bhoys,  and  fill  yir- 
silves!" 

Black  Hugh  and  his  men  lined  up  gravely  to  the 
bar  and  were  straightway  surrounded  by  the  crowd 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

yelling  hideously.  But  if  Murphy  and  his  gang  thought 
to  intimidate  those  grave  Highlanders  with  noise,  they 
were  greatly  mistaken,  for  they  stood  quietly  waiting 
for  their  glasses  to  be  filled,  alert,  but  with  an  air  of 
perfect  indifference.  Some  eight  or  ten  glasses  were 
set  down  and  filled,  when  Murphy,  snatching  a  couple 
of  bottles  from  the  shelf  behind  the  bar,  handed  them 
out  to  his  men,  crying,  "Here,  ye  bluddy  thaves,  lave 
the  glasses  to  the  gintlemen!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  insolence  in  his  tone, 
and  the  chorus  of  derisive  yells  that  answered  him 
showed  that  his  remark  had  gone  to  the  spot. 

Yankee  Jim,  who  had  kept  close  to  Black  Hugh, 
saw  the  veins  in  his  neck  beginning  to  swell,  and  face 
to  grow  dark.  He  was  longing  to  be  at  Murphy's 
throat.  "Speak  him  fair,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
"there's  rather  a  good  string  of  'em  raound."  Mac- 
donald  Dubh  glanced  about  him.  His  eye  fell  on  his 
boy,  and  for  the  first  time  his  face  became  anxious. 
"Ranald,"  he  said,  angrily,  "take  yourself  out  of 
this.  It  is  no  place  for  you  whatever."  The  boy,  a 
slight  lad  of  seventeen,  but  tall  and  well-knit,  and  with 
his  father's  fierce,  wild,  dark  face,  hesitated. 

"Go,"  said  his  father,  giving  him  a  slight  cuff. 

"Here,  boy!"  yelled  LeNoir,  catching  him  by  the 
arm  and  holding  the  bottle  to  his  mouth,  "drink." 
The  boy  took  a  gulp,  choked,  and  spat  it  out.  Le- 
Noir and  his  men  roared.  "Dat  good  whiskey,"  he 
cried,  still  holding  the  boy.  "You  not  lak  dat, 
hey?" 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  "it  is  not  good  at  all." 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Try  heem  some  more,"  said  LeNoir,  thrusting 
the  bottle  at  him  again. 

"I  will  not,"  said  Ranald,  looking  at  LeNoir 
straight  and  fearless. 

"Ho-ho!  mon  brave  enfant!  But  you  have  not 
de  good  mannere.  Come,  drink!"  He  caught  the 
boy  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  and  made  as  if  to  pour 
the  whiskey  down  his  throat.  Black  Hugh,  who  had 
been  kept  back  by  Yankee  Jim  all  this  time,  started 
forward,  but  before  he  could  take  a  second  step  Ran- 
ald, squirming  round  like  a  cat,  had  sunk  his  teeth  into 
LeNoir's  wrist.  With  a  cry  of  rage  and  pain  LeNoir 
raised  the  bottle  and  was  bringing  it  down  on  Ranald's 
head,  when  Black  Hugh,  with  one  hand,  caught  the 
falling  blow,  and  with  the  other  seized  Ranald,  and 
crying,  "Get  out  of  this!"  he  flung  him  towards  the 
door.  Then  turning  to  LeNoir,  he  said,  with  surpris- 
ing self-control,  "It  is  myself  that  is  sorry  that  a  boy 
of  mine  should  be  guilty  of  biting  like  a  dog." 

"Sa-c-r-r£  le  chien!"  yelled  LeNoir,  shaking  off 
Macdonald  Dubh;  "he  is  one  dog,  and  the  son  of  a 
dog!"  He  turned  and  started  for  the  boy.  But 
Yankee  Jim  had  got  Ranald  to  the  door  and  was  whis- 
pering to  him.  "Run!"  cried  Yankee  Jim,  pushing 
him  out  of  the  door,  and  the  boy  was  off  like  the  wind. 
LeNoir  pursued  him  a  short  way  and  returned  raging. 

Yankee  Jim,  or  Yankee,  as  he  was  called  for  short, 
came  back  to  Macdonald  Dubh's  side,  and  whispering  to 
the  other  Highlanders,"  Keep  your  backs  clear,"  sat  up 
coolly  on  the  counter.  The  fight  was  sure  to  come  and 
there  were  seven  to  one  against  them  in  the  room.  If 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

he  could  only  gain  time.  Every  minute  was  precious. 
It  would  take  the  boy  fifteen  minutes  to  run  the  two 
miles  to  camp.  It  would  be  half  an  hour  before  the 
rest  of  the  Glengarry  men  could  arrive,  and  much 
fighting  may  be  done  in  that  time.  He  must  avert 
attention  from  Macdonald  Dubh,  who  was  waiting  to 
cram  LeNoir's  insult  down  his  throat.  Yankee  Jim 
had  not  only  all  the  cool  courage  but  also  the  shrewd, 
calculating  spirit  of  his  race.  He  was  ready  to  fight, 
and  if  need  be  against  odds,  but  he  preferred  to  fight 
on  as  even  terms  as  possible. 

Soon  LeNoir  came  back,  wild  with  fury,  and  yelling 
curses  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  He  hurled  himself  into  the 
room,  the  crowd  falling  back  from  him  on  either  hand. 

"Hola!"  he  yelled,  "SacrS  bleu!"  He  took  two 
quick  steps,  and  springing  up  into  the  air  he  kicked 
the  stovepipe  that  ran  along  some  seven  feet  above 
the  floor. 

"Purty  good  kicking,"  called  out  Yankee,  sliding 
down  from  his  seat.  "Used  to  kick  some  myself. 
Excuse  me. "  He  stood  for  a  moment  looking  up  at 
the  stovepipe,  then  without  apparent  effort  he  sprang 
into  the  air,  shot  up  his  long  legs,  and  knocked  the 
stovepipe  with  a  bang  against  the  ceiling.  There  was 
a  shout  of  admiration. 

"My  damages,"  he  said  to  Pat  Murphy,  who  stood 
behind  the  counter.  "Good  thing  there  ain't  no  fire. 
Thought  it  was  higher.  Wouldn't  care  to  kick  for 
the  drinks,  would  ye?"  he  added  to  LeNoir. 

LeNoir  was  too  furious  to  enter  into  any  contest  so 
peaceful,  but  as  he  specially  prided  himself  on  his  high 

23 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

kick,  he  paused  a  moment  and  was  about  to  agree 
when  Black  Hugh  broke  in,  harshly,  spoiling  all  Yan- 
kee's plans. 

"There  is  no  time  for  such  foolishness,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Dan  Murphy.  "I  want  to  know  when  we 
can  get  our  timber  out." 

"Depinds  intoirly  on  yirsilf,"  said  Murphy. 

"When  will  your  logs  be  out  of  the  way?" 

"Indade  an'  that's  a  ha-r-r-d  one,"  laughed  Mur- 
phy. 

"And  will  you  tell  me  what  right  hev  you  to  close 
up  the  river?"  Black  Hugh's  wrath  was  rising. 

"You  wud  think  now  it  wuz  yirsilf  that  owned  the 
river.  An'  bedad  it's  the  thought  of  yir  mind,  it  is. 
An'  it's  not  the  river  only,  but  the  whole  creation  ye 
an*  yir  brother  think  is  yours."  Dan  Murphy  was 
close  up  to  Macdonald  Dubh  by  this  time.  "Yis, 
blank,  blank,  yir  faces,  an*  ye'd  like  to  turn  better 
than  yirsilves  from  aff  the  river,  so  ye  wud,  ye  black- 
hearted thaves  that  ye  are." 

This,  of  course,  was  beyond  all  endurance.  For 
answer  Black  Hugh  smote  him  sudden  and  fierce  on 
the  mouth,  and  Murphy  went  down. 

"Purty  one,"  sang  out  Yankee,  cheerily.  "Now, 
boys,  back  to  the  wall. ' ' 

Before  Murphy  could  rise,  LeNoir  sprang  over  him 
and  lit  upon  Macdonald  like  a  cat,  but  Macdonald 
shook  himself  free  and  sprang  back  to  the  Glengarry 
line  at  the  wall. 

"Mac  an'  Diabhoil,"  he  roared,  "Glengarry  for- 
everl" 

24 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

"Glengarry!"  yelled  the  four  Highlanders  beside 
him,  wild  with  the  delight  of  battle.  It  was  a  plain 
necessity,  and  they  went  into  it  with  free  consciences 
and  happy  hearts. 

"Let  me  at  him,"  cried  Murphy,  struggling  past 
LeNoir  towards  Macdonald. 

"Non!  He  is  to  me!"  yelled  LeNoir,  dancing  in 
front  of  Macdonald. 

"Here,  Murphy,"  called  out  Yankee,  obligingly, 
"help  yourself  this  way."  Murphy  dashed  at  him, 
but  Yankee's  long  arm  shot  out  to  meet  him,  and 
Murphy  again  found  the  floor. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  cried  Pat  Murphy,  Dan's 
brother,  and  followed  by  half  a  dozen  others,  he  flung 
himself  at  Yankee  and  the  line  of  men  standing  up 
against  the  wall.  But  Yankee's  arms  flashed  out  once, 
twice,  thrice,  and  Pat  Murphy  fell  back  over  his 
brother;  two  others  staggered  across  and  checked  the 
oncoming  rush,  while  Dannie  Ross  and  big  Mack 
Cameron  had  each  beaten  back  their  man,  and  the 
Glengarry  line  stood  unbroken.  Man  for  man  they 
were  far  more  than  a  match  for  their  opponents,  and 
standing  shoulder  to  shoulder,  with  their  backs  to  the 
wall,  they  taunted  Murphy  and  his  gang  with  all  the 
wealth  of  gibes  and  oaths  at  their  command. 

' '  Where's  the  rest  of  your  outfit,  Murphy?"  drawled 
Yankee.  "Don't  seem's  if  you'd  counted  right." 

"It  is  a  cold  day  for  the  parley  voos,"  laughed  Big 
Mack  Cameron.  "Come  up,  lads,  and  take  a  taste  of 
something  hot." 

Then  the  Murphy  men,  clearing  away  the  fallen, 
25 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

rushed  again.  They  strove  to  bring  the  Highlanders 
to  a  clinch,  but  Yankee's  voice  was  high  and  clear 
in  command. 

"Keep  the  line,  boys!  Don't  let  'em  draw  you!" 
And  the  Glengarry  men  waited  till  they  could  strike, 
and  when  they  struck  men  went  down  and  were  pulled 
back  by  their  friends. 

"Intil  them,  bhoys!"  yelled  Dan  Murphy,  keeping 
out  of  range  himself.  "Intil  the  divils!"  And  again 
and  again  his  men  crowded  down  upon  the  line  against 
the  wall,  but  again  and  again  they  were  beaten  down 
or  hurled  back  bruised  and  bleeding. 

Meantime  LeNoir  was  devoting  himself  to  Black 
Hugh  at  one  end  of  the  line,  dancing  in  upon  him  and 
away  again,  but  without  much  result.  Black  Hugh 
refused  to  be  drawn  out,  and  fought  warily  on  defense, 
knowing  the  odds  were  great  and  waiting  his  chance 
to  deliver  one  good  blow,  which  was  all  he  asked. 

The  Glengarry  men  were  enjoying  themselves 
hugely,  and  when  not  shouting  their  battle-cry,  "Glen- 
garry forever!"  or  taunting  their  foes,  they  were 
joking  each  other  on  the  fortunes  of  war.  Big  Mack 
Cameron,  who  held  the  center,  drew  most  of  the 
sallies.  He  was  easy-tempered  and  good-natured, 
and  took  his  knocks  with  the  utmost  good  humor. 

"That  was  a  good  one,  Mack,"  said  Dannie  Ross, 
his  special  chum,  as  a  sounding  whack  came  in  on 
Big  Mack's  face.  "As  true  as  death  I  will  be  telling 
it  to  Bella  Peter."  Bella,  the  daughter  of  Peter  Mc- 
Gregor, was  supposed  to  be  dear  to  Big  Mack's  heart. 

"What  a  peety  she  could  not  see  him  the  now," 
26 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

said  Finlay  Campbell.  "Man  alive,  she  would  say 
the  word  queeck!" 

"  'Tis  more  than  she  will  do  to  you  whatever,  if  you 
cannot  keep  off  that  crapeau  yonder  a  little  better," 
said  Big  Mack,  reaching  for  a  Frenchman  who  kept 
dodging  in  upon  him  with  annoying  persistence.  Then 
Mack  began  to  swear  Gaelic  oaths. 

"  'Tain't  fair,  Mack!"  called  out  Yankee  from  his 
end  of  the  line,  "bad  language  in  English  is  bad 
enough,  but  in  Gaelic  it  must  be  uncommon  rough." 
So  they  gibed  each  other.  But  the  tactics  of  the 
enemy  were  exceedingly  irritating,  and  were  begin- 
ning to  tell  upon  the  tempers  of  the  Highlanders. 

"Come  to  me,  ye  cowardly  little  devil,"  roared 
Mack  to  his  persisting  assailant.  "No  one  will  hurt 
you!  Come  away,  man!  A-a-ah-ouch!"  His  cry  of 
satisfaction  at  having  grabbed  his  man  ended  in  a 
howl  of  pain,  for  the  Frenchman  had  got  Mack's 
thumb  between  his  teeth,  and  was  chewing  it  vigor- 
ously. 

"Ye  would,  would  you,  ye  dog?"  roared  Big  Mack. 
He  closed  his  fingers  into  the  Frenchman's  gullet,  and 
drew  him  up  to  strike,  but  on  every  side  hands  reached 
for  him  and  stayed  his  blow.  Then  he  lost  himself. 
With  a  yell  of  rage  he  jambed  his  man  back  into  the 
crowd,  sinking  his  fingers  deeper  and  deeper  into  his 
enemy's  throat  till  his  face  grew  black  and  his  head 
fell  over  on  one  side.  But  it  was  a  fatal  move  for 
Mack,  and  overcome  by  numbers  that  crowded  upon 
him,  he  went  down  fighting  wildly  and  bearing  the 
Frenchman  beneath  him.  The  Glengarry  line  was 

27 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

broken.  Black  Hugh  saw  Mack's  peril,  and  knew 
that  it  meant  destruction  to  all.  With  a  wilder  cry 
than  usual,  "Glengarry!  Glengarry!"  he  dashed 
straight  into  LeNoir,  who  gave  back  swiftly,  caught 
two  men  who  were  beating  Big  Mack's  life  out,  and 
hurled  them  aside,  and  grasping  his  friend's  collar, 
hauled  him  to  his  feet,  and  threw  him  back  against 
the  wall  and  into  the  line  again  with  his  grip  still 
upon  his  Frenchman's  throat. 

"Let  dead  men  go,  Mack,"  he  cried,  but  even  as 
he  spoke  LeNoir,  seeing  his  opportunity,  sprang  at 
him  and  with  a  backward  kick  caught  Macdonald  fair 
in  the  face  and  lashed  him  hard  against  the  wall.  It 
was  the  terrible  French  lash  and  was  one  of  LeNoir's 
special  tricks.  Black  Hugh,  stunned  and  dazed, 
leaned  back  against  the  wall,  spreading  out  his  hands 
weakly  before  his  face.  LeNoir,  seeing  victory  within 
his  grasp,  rushed  in  to  finish  off  his  special  foe.  But 
Yankee  Jim,  who,  while  engaged  in  cheerfully  knock- 
ing back  the  two  Murphys  and  others  who  took  their 
turn  at  him,  had  been  keeping  an  eye  on  the  line  of 
battle,  saw  Macdonald's  danger,  and  knowing  that  the 
crisis  had  come,  dashed  across  the  line,  crying  "Fol- 
low me,  boys."  His  long  arms  swung  round  his  head 
like  the  sails  of  a  wind-mill,  and  men  fell  back  from 
him  as  if  they  had  been  made  of  wood.  As  LeNoir 
sprang,  Yankee  shot  fiercely  at  him,  but  the  French- 
man, too  quick  for  him,  ducked  and  leaped  upon 
Black  Hugh,  who  was  still  swaying  against  the  wall, 
bore  him  down  and  jumped  with  his  heavy  "corked" 
boots  on  his  breast  and  face.  Again  the  Glengarry 

28 


THE         OPEN         RIVER 

line  was  broken.  At  once  the  crowd  surged  about 
the  Glengarry  men,  who  now  stood  back  to  back, 
beating  off  the  men  leaping  at  them  from  every  side, 
as  a  stag  beats  off  dogs,  and  still  chanting  high  their 
dauntless  cry,  "Glengarry  forever,"  to  which  Big 
Mack  added  at  intervals,  "To  hell  with  the  Papishes!" 
Yankee,  failing  to  check  LeNoir's  attack  upon  Black 
Hugh,  fought  off  the  men  crowding  upon  him,  and  made 
his  way  to  the  corner  where  the  Frenchman  was  still 
engaged  in  kicking  the  prostrate  Highlander  to  death. 
"Take  that,  you  blamed  cuss,"  he  said,  catching 
LeNoir  in  the  jaw  and  knocking  his  head  with  a  thud 
against  the  wall.  Before  he  could  strike  again  he  was 
thrown  against  his  enemy,  who  clutched  him  and  held 
like  a  vice. 


CHAPTER  II 

VENGEANCE    IS   MINE 

The  Glengarry  men  had  fought  their  fight,  and  it 
only  remained  for  their  foes  to  wreak  their  vengeance 
upon  them  and  wipe  out  old  scores.  One  minute 
more  would  have  done  for  them,  but  in  that  minute 
the  door  came  crashing  in.  There  was  a  mighty  roar, 
"Glengarry!  Glengarry!"  and  the  great  Macdonald 
himself,  with  the  boy  Ranald  and  some  half-dozen  of 
his  men  behind  him,  stood  among  them.  On  all  hands 
the  fight  stopped.  A  moment  he  stood,  his  great  head 
and  shoulders  towering  above  the  crowd,  his  tawny 
hair  and  beard  falling  around  his  face  like  a  great 
mane,  his  blue  eyes  gleaming  from  under  his  shaggy 
eyebrows  like  livid  lightning.  A  single  glance  around 
the  room,  and  again  raising  his  battle-cry,  "Glen- 
garry!" he  seized  the  nearest  shrinking  Frenchman, 
lifted  him  high,  and  hurled  him  smashing  into  the 
bottles  behind  the  counter.  His  men,  following  him, 
bounded  like  tigers  on  their  prey.  A  few  minutes 
of  fierce,  eager  fighting,  and  the  Glengarry  men  were 
all  freed  and  on  their  feet,  all  except  Black  Hugh,  who 
lay  groaning  in  his  corner.  "Hold,  lads!"  Macdonald 
Bhain  cried,  in  his  mighty  voice.  "Stop,  I'm  telling 
you."  The  fighting  ceased. 

"Dan  Murphy!"  he  cried,  casting  his  eye  round 
the  room,  "where  are  you.  ye  son  of  Belial?" 

3° 


VENGEANCE      IS      MINE 

Murphy,  crouching  at  the  back  of  the  crowd  near 
the  door,  sought  to  escape. 

"Ah!  there  you  are!"  cried  Macdonald,  and  reach- 
ing through  the  crowd  with  his  great,  long  arm,  he 
caught  Murphy  by  the  hair  of  the  head  and  dragged 
him  forward. 

"R-r-r-a-a-t!  R-r-r-a-a-t!  R-r-r-a-a-t!"  he  snarled, 
shaking  him  till  his  teeth  rattled.  "It  is  yourself  that 
is  the  cause  of  this  wickedness.  Now,  may  the  Lord 
have  mercy  on  your  soul."  With  one  hand  he 
gripped  Murphy  by  the  throat,  holding  him  at  arm's 
length,  and  raised  his  huge  fist  to  strike.  But  before 
the  blow  fell  he  paused. 

"No!"  he  muttered,  in  a  disappointed  tone,  "it  is 
not  good  enough.  I  will  not  be  demeaning  myself. 
Hence,  you  r-r-a-a-t!"  As  he  spoke  he  lifted  the 
shaking  wretch  as  if  he  had  been  a  bundle  of  clothes, 
swung  him  half  round  and  hurled  him  crashing  through 
the  window. 

"Is  there  no  goot  man  here  at  all  who  will  stand 
before  me?"  he  raged  in  a  wild,  joyous  fury.  "Will 
not  two  of  you  come  forth,  then?"  No  one  moved. 
"Come  to  me!"  he  suddenly  cried,  and  snatching  two 
of  the  enemy,  he  dashed  their  heads  together,  and 
threw  them  insensible  on  the  floor. 

Then  he  caught  sight  of  his  brother  for  the  first 
time  lying  in  the  corner  with  Big  Mack  supporting  his 
head,  and  LeNoir  standing  near. 

"What  is  this?  What  is  this?"  he  cried,  striding 
toward  LeNoir.  "And  is  it  you  that  has  done  this 
work?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  of  subdued  rage. 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Oui!"  cried  LeNoir,  stepping  back  and  putting 
up  his  hands,  "das  me;  Louis  LeNoir!  by  Gar!" 
He  struck  himself  on  the  breast  as  he  spoke. 

"Out  of  my  way!"  cried  Macdonald,  swinging  his 
open  hand  on  the  Frenchman's  ear.  With  a  swift 
sweep  he  brushed  LeNoir  aside  from  his  place,  and 
ignoring  him  stooped  over  his  brother.  But  LeNoir 
was  no  coward,  and  besides  his  boasted  reputation  was 
at  stake.  He  thought  he  saw  his  chance,  and  rushing 
at  Macdonald  as  he  was  bending  over  his  brother, 
delivered  his  terrible  lash.  But  Macdonald  had  not 
lived  with  and  fought  with  Frenchmen  all  these  years 
without  knowing  their  tricks  and  ways.  He  saw  Le- 
Noir's  lash  coming,  and  quickly  turning  his  head, 
avoided  the  blow. 

"Ah!  would  ye?  Take  that,  then,  and  be  quate!" 
and  so  saying,  he  caught  LeNoir  on  the  side  of  the 
head  and  sent  him  to  the  floor. 

"Keep  him  off  awhile,  Yankee!"  said  Macdonald, 
for  LeNoir  was  up  again,  and  coming  at  him. 

Then  kneeling  beside  his  brother  he  wiped  the 
bloody  froth  that  was  oozing  from  his  lips,  and  said 
in  a  low,  anxious  tone: 

"Hugh,  bhodaich  (old  man),  are  ye  hurted?  Can 
ye  not  speak  to  me,  Hugh?" 

"Oich-oh,"  Black  Hugh  groaned.  "It  was  a 
necessity — Donald  man — and — he  took  me — una- 
wares— with  his — keeck. 

"Indeed,  and  I'll  warrant  you !"  agreed  his  brother, 
"but  I  will  be  attending  to  him,  never  you  fear. " 


VENGEANCE      IS      MINE 

Macdonald  was  about  to  rise,  when  his  brother 
caught  his  arm. 

"You  will — not  be — killing  him,"  he  urged,  be- 
tween his  painful  gasps,  "because  I  will  be  doing 
that  myself  some  day,  by  God's  help." 

His  words  and  the  eager  hate  in  his  face  seemed  to 
quiet  Macdonald. 

"Alas!  alas!"  he  said,  sadly,  "it  is  not  allowed 
me  to  smite  him  as  he  deserves — 'Vengeance  is  mine 
saith  the  Lord,'  and  I  have  solemnly  promised  the 
minister  not  to  smite  for  glory  or  for  revenge !  Alas ! 
alas ! ' ' 

Then  turning  to  LeNoir,  he  said,  gravely:  "It  is 
not  given  me  to  punish  you  for  your  coward's  blow. 
Go  from  me!"  But  LeNoir  misjudged  him. 

"Bah!"  he  cried,  contemptuously,  "you  tink  me 
one  baby,  you  strike  me  on  de  head  side  like  one  little 
boy.  Bon !  Louis  LeNware,  de  bes  bully  on  de 
Hottawa,  he's  not  'fraid  for  hany  man,  by  Gar!"  He 
pranced  up  and  down  before  Macdonald,  working  him- 
self into  a  great  rage,  as  Macdonald  grew  more  and 
more  controlled. 

Macdonald  turned  to  his  men  with  a  kind  of 
appeal — "I  hev  given  my  promise,  and  Macdonald 
will  not  break  his  word." 

"Bah!"  cried  LeNoir,  spitting  at  him. 

"Now  may  the  Lord  give  me  grace  to  withstand 
the  enemy,"  said  Macdonald,  gravely,  "for  I  am 
greatly  moved  to  take  vengeance  upon  you." 

"Bah!"  cried  LeNoir  again,  mistaking  Macdonald's 


33 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

quietness  and  self-control  for  fear.  "You  no  good! 
Your  brother  is  no  good !  Beeg  sheep !  Beeg  sheep ! 
Bah!" 

"God  help  me,"  said  Macdonald  as  if  to  himself. 
"I  am  a  man  of  grace!  But  must  this  dog  go  unpun- 
ished?" 

LeNoir  continued  striding  up  and  down,  now  and 
then  springing  high  in  the  air  and  knocking  his  heels 
together  with  blood-curdling  yells.  He  seemed  to 
feel  that  Macdonald  would  not  fight,  and  his  courage 
and  desire  for  blood  grew  accordingly. 

"Will  you  not  be  quate?"  said  Macdonald,  rising 
after  a  few  moments  from  his  brother's  side,  where 
he  had  been  wiping  his  lips  and  giving  him  water  to 
drink.  "You  will  be  better  outside." 

"Oui!  you  strike  me  on  the  head  side.  Bon!  I 
strike  you  de  same  way!  By  Gar!"  so  saying  he  ap- 
proached Macdonald  lightly,  and  struck  him  a  slight 
blow  on  the  cheek. 

"Ay,"  said  Macdonald,  growing  white  and  rigid. 
"T  struck  you  twice,  LeNoir.  Here!"  he  offered  the 
other  side  of  his  face.  LeNoir  danced  up  carefully, 
made  a  slight  pass,  and  struck  the  offered  cheek. 

"Now,  that  is  done,  will  it  please  you  to  do  it 
again?"  said  Macdonald,  with  earnest  entreaty  in  his 
voice.  LeNoir  must  have  been  mad  with  his  rage  and 
vanity,  else  he  had  caught  the  glitter  in  the  blue  eyes 
looking  through  the  shaggy  hair.  Again  LeNoir 
approached,  this  time  with  greater  confidence,  and 
dealt  Macdonald  a  stinging  blow  on  the  side  of  the 
head. 

34 


VENGEANCE      IS      MINE 

"Now  the  Lord  be  praised,"  he  cried,  joy  break- 
ing out  in  his  face.  "He  has  delivered  my  enemy 
into  my  hand.  For  it  is  the  third  time  he  has  smitten 
me,  and  that  is  beyond  the  limit  appointed  by  Him- 
self." With  this  he  advanced  upon  LeNoir  with  a 
glad  heart.  His  conscience  was  clear  at  last. 

LeNoir  stood  up  against  his  antagonist.  He  well 
knew  he  was  about  to  make  the  fight  of  his  life.  He 
had  beaten  men  as  big  as  Macdonald,  but  he  knew 
that  his  hope  lay  in  keeping  out  of  the  enemy's  reach. 
So  he  danced  around  warily.  Macdonald  followed 
him  slowly.  LeNoir  opened  with  a  swift  and  savage 
reach  for  Macdonald's  neck,  but  failed  to  break  the 
guard  and  danced  out  again,  Macdonald  still  pressing 
on  him.  Again  and  again  LeNoir  rushed,  but  the 
guard  was  impregnable,  and  steadily  Macdonald  ad- 
vanced. That  steady,  relentless  advance  began  to  tell 
on  the  Frenchman's  nerves.  The  sweat  gathered  in 
big  drops  on  his  forehead  and  ran  down  his  face.  He 
prepared  for  a  supreme  effort.  Swiftly  retreating,  he 
lured  Macdonald  to  a  more  rapid  advance,  then  with 
a  yell  he  doubled  himself  into  a  ball  and  delivered 
himself  head,  hands,  and  feet  into  Macdonald's  stom- 
ach. It  is  a  trick  that  sometimes  avails  to  break  an 
unsteady  guard  and  to  secure  a  clinch  with  an  unwary 
opponent.  But  Macdonald  had  been  waiting  for  that 
trick.  Stopping  short,  he  leaned  over  to  one  side, 
and  stooping  slightly,  caught  LeNoir  low  and  tossed 
him  clear  over  his  head.  LeNoir  fell  with  a  terrible 
thud  on  his  back,  but  was  on  his  feet  again  like  a  cat 
and  ready  for  the  ever-advancing  Macdonald.  But 

35 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

though  he  had  not  been  struck  a  single  blow  he  knew 
that  he  had  met  his  master.  That  unbreakable  guard, 
the  smiling  face  with  the  gleaming,  unsmiling  eyes, 
that  awful  unwavering  advance,  were  too  much  for 
him.  He  was  pale,  his  breath  came  in  quick  gasps, 
and  his  eyes  showed  the  fear  of  a  hunted  beast.  He 
prepared  for  a  final  effort.  Feigning  a  greater  distress 
than  he  felt,  he  yielded  weakly  to  Macdonald's  ad- 
vance, then  suddenly  gathering  his  full  strength  he 
sprang  into  the  air  and  lashed  out  backward  at  that 
hated,  smiling  face.  His  boot  found  its  mark,  not  on 
Macdonald's  face,  but  fair  on  his  neck.  The  effect 
was  terrific.  Macdonald  staggered  back  two  or  three 
paces,  but  before  LeNoir  could  be  at  him,  he  had 
recovered  sufficiently  to  maintain  his  guard,  and  shake 
off  his  foe.  At  the  yell  that  went  up  from  Murphy's 
men,  the  big  Highlander's  face  lost  its  smile  and 
became  keen  and  cruel,  his  eyes  glittered  with  the 
flash  of  steel  and  he  came  forward  once  more  with  a 
quick,  light  tread.  His  great  body  seemed  to  lose 
both  size  and  weight,  so  lightly  did  he  step  on  tiptoe. 
There  was  no  more  pause,  but  lightly,  swiftly,  and 
eagerly  he  glided  upon  LeNoir.  There  was  some- 
thing terrifying  in  that  swift,  cat-like  movement.  In 
vain  the  Frenchman  backed  and  dodged  and  tried  to 
guard.  Once,  twice,  Macdonald's  fists  fell.  LeNoir's 
right  arm  hung  limp  by  his  side  and  he  staggered  back 
to  the  wall  helpless.  Without  an  instant's  delay, 
Macdonald  had  him  by  the  throat,  and  gripping  him 
fiercely,  began  to  slowly  bend  him  backward  over  his 
knee.  Then  for  the  first  time  Macdonald  spoke : 

36 


VENGEANCE      IS      MINE 

"LeNoir,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "the  days  of  your 
boasting  are  over.  You  will  no  longer  glory  in  your 
strength,  for  now  I  will  break  your  back  to  you." 

LeNoir  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  came  in  hor- 
rible gurgles.  His  face  was  a  ghastly  greenish  hue, 
lined  with  purple  and  swollen  veins,  his  eyes  were 
standing  out  of  his  head,  and  his  breath  sobbing  in 
raucous  gasps.  Slowly  the  head  went  back.  The 
crowd  stood  in  horror-stricken  silence  waiting  for  the 
sickening  snap.  Yankee,  unable  to  stand  it  any 
longer,  stepped  up  to  his  chief,  and  in  a  most  matter 
of  fact  voice  drawled  out,  "About  an  inch  more  that 
way  I  guess  '11  do  the  trick,  if  he  ain't  double-jointed." 

"Aye,"  said  Macdonald,  holding  grimly  on. 

"Tonald," — Black  Hugh's  voice  sounded  faint  but 
clear  in  the  awful  silence — "Tonald — you  will  not — be 
killing — him.  Remember  that  now.  I  will — never — 
forgive  you — if  you  will — take  that — from  my  hands." 

The  cry  for  vengeance  smote  Macdonald  to  the 
heart,  and  recalled  him  to  himself.  He  paused,  threw 
back  his  locks  from  his  eyes,  then  relaxing  his  grip, 
stood  up. 

"God  preserve  me!"  he  groaned,  "what  am  I 
about?" 

For  some  time  he  remained  standing  silent,  with 
head  down  as  if  not  quite  sure  of  himself.  He  was 
recalled  by  a  grip  of  his  arm.  He  turned  and  saw  his 
nephew,  Ranald,  at  his  side.  The  boy's  dark  face 
was  pale  with  passion. 

"And  is  that  all  you  are  going  to  do  to  him?"  he 
demanded.  Macdonald  gazed  at  him. 

37 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Do  you  not  see  what  he  has  done?"  he  continued, 
pointing  to  his  father,  who  was  still  lying  propped  up 
on  some  coats.  "Why  did  you  not  break  his  back? 
You  said  you  would!  The  brute,  beast!" 

He  hurled  out  the  words  in  hot  hate.  His  voice 
pierced  the  noise  of  the  room.  Macdonald  stood  still, 
gazing  at  the  fierce,  dark  face  in  solemn  silence.  Then 
he  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"My  lad,  'Vengeance  is  mine  saith  the  Lord.'  It 
would  have  pleased  me  well,  but  the  hand  of  the  Lord 
was  laid  upon  me  and  I  could  not  kill  him." 

"Then  it  is  myself  will  kill  him,"  he  shrieked, 
springing  like  a  wildcat  at  LeNoir.  But  his  uncle 
wound  his  arms  around  him  and  held  him  fast.  For 
a  minute  and  more  he  struggled  fiercely,  crying  to  be 
set  free,  till  recognizing  the  uselessness  of  his  efforts 
he  grew  calm,  and  said  quietly,  "Let  me  loose,  uncle; 
I  will  be  quiet."  And  his  uncle  set  him  free.  The 
boy  shook  himself,  and  then  standing  up  before  Le- 
Noir said,  in  a  high,  clear  voice: 

"Will  you  hear  me,  LeNoir?  The  day  will  come 
when  I  will  do  to  you  what  you  have  done  to  my 
father,  and  if  my  father  will  die,  then  by  the  life  of 
God  [a  common  oath  among  the  shanty-men]  I  will 
have  your  life  for  it."  His  voice  had  an  unearthly 
shrillness  in  it,  and  LeNoir  shrank  back. 

"Whist,  whist,  lad!  be  quate!"  said  his  uncle; 
"these  are  not  goot  words."  The  lad  heeded  him 
not,  but  sank  down  beside  his  father  on  the  floor. 
Black  Hugh  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  with  a  grim 
smile  on  his  face. 

38 


VENGEANCE      IS      MINE 

"It  is  a  goot  lad  whatever,  but  please  God  he  will 
not  need  to  keep  his  word."  He  laid  his  hand  in  a 
momentary  caress  upon  his  boy's  shoulder,  and  sank 
back  again,  saying,  "Take  me  out  of  this." 

Then  Macdonald  Bhain  turned  to  Dan  Murphy  and 
gravely  addressed  him : 

"Dan  Murphy,  it  is  an  ungodly  and  cowardly  work 
you  have  done  this  day,  and  the  curse  of  God  will  be  on 
you  if  you  will  not  repent. ' '  Then  he  turned  away,  and 
with  Big  Mack's  help  bore  his  brother  to  the  pointer, 
followed  by  his  men,  bloody,  bruised,  but  unconquered. 
But  before  he  left  the  room  LeNoir  stepped  forward, 
and  offering  his  hand,  said,  "You  mak  friends  wit' 
me.  You  de  boss  bully  on  de  reever  Hottawa. " 

Macdonald  neither  answered  nor  looked  his  way, 
but  passed  out  in  grave  silence. 

Then  Yankee  Jim  remarked  to  Dan  Murphy,  "I 
guess  you'd  better  git  them  logs  out  purty  mighty 
quick.  We'll  want  the  river  in  about  two  days." 
Dan  Murphy  said  not  a  word,  but  when  the  Glen- 
garry men  wanted  the  river  they  found  it  open. 

But  for  Macdonald  the  fight  was  not  yet  over,  for 
as  he  sat  beside  his  brother,  listening  to  his  groans, 
his  men  could  see  him  wreathing  his  hands  and  chant- 
ing in  an  undertone  the  words,  "Vengeance  is  mine 
saith  the  Lord."  And  as  he  sat  by  the  camp-fire  that 
night  listening  to  Yankee's  account  of  the  beginning 
of  the  trouble,  and  heard  how  his  brother  had  kept 
himself  in  hand,  and  how  at  last  he  had  been  foully 
smitten,  Macdonald's  conflict  deepened,  and  he  rose 
up  and  cried  aloud: 

39 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"God  help  me!  Is  this  to  go  unpunished?  I  will 
seek  him  to-morrow."  And  he  passed  out  into  the 
dark  woods. 

After  a  few  moments  the  boy  Ranald  slipped 
away  after  him  to  beg  that  he  might  be  allowed  to 
go  with  him  to-morrow.  Stealing  silently  through 
the  bushes  he  came  to  where  he  could  see  the  kneel- 
ing figure  of  his  uncle  swaying  up  and  down,  and 
caught  the  sounds  of  words  broken  with  groans: 

"Let  me  go,  O  Lord!  Let  me  go!"  He  pled 
now  in  Gaelic  and  again  in  English.  "Let  not  the  man 
be  escaping  his  just  punishment.  Grant  me  this,  O, 
Lord!  Let  me  smite  but  once!"  Then  after  a  pause 
came  the  words,  "  'Vengeance  is  mine  saith  the  Lord !  ' 
Vengeance  is  mine!  Ay,  it  is  the  true  word!  But, 
Lord,  let  not  this  man  of  Belial,  this  Papish,  escape!" 
Then  again,  like  a  refrain  would  come  the  words, 
"Vengeance  is  mine.  Vengeance  is  mine,"  in  ever- 
deeper  agony,  till  throwing  himself  on  his  face,  he  lay 
silent  a  long  time. 

Suddenly  he  rose  to  his  knees  and  so  remained, 
looking  steadfastly  before  him  into  the  woods.  The 
wind  came  sighing  through  the  pines  with  a  wail  and 
a  sob.  Macdonald  shuddered  and  then  fell  on  his  face 
again.  The  Vision  was  upon  him.  "Ah,  Lord,  it  is 
the  bloody  hands  and  feet  I  see.  It  is  enough."  At 
this  Ranald  slipped  back  awe-stricken  to  the  camp. 
When,  after  an  hour,  Macdonald  came  back  into  the 
firelight,  his  face  was  pale  and  wet,  but  calm,  and 
there  was  an  exalted  look  in  his  eyes.  His  men  gazed 
at  him  with  wonder  and  awe  in  their  faces. 

40 


VENGEANCE      IS      MINE 

"Mercy  on  us!  He  will  be  seeing  something," 
said  Big  Mack  to  Yankee  Jim. 

"Seem'  somethin'?  What?  A  bar?"  inquired 
Yankee. 

"Whist  now!"  said  Big  Mack,  in  a  low  voice. 
"He  has  the  sight.  Be  quate  now,  will  you?  He 
will  be  speaking." 

For  a  short  time  Macdonald  sat  gazing  into  the  fire 
in  silence,  then  turning  his  face  toward  the  men  who 
were  waiting,  he  said:  "There  will  be  no  more  of  this. 
'Vengeance  is  mine  saith  the  Lord !'  It  is  not  for  me. 
The  Lord  will  do  His  own  work.  It  is  the  will  of  the 
Lord."  And  the  men  knew  that  the  last  word  had 
been  said  on  that  subject,  and  that  LeNoir  was  safe. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  MANSE  IN  THE  BUSH 

Straight  north  from  the  St.  Lawrence  runs  the  road 
through  the  Indian  Lands.  At  first  its  way  lies 
through  open  country,  from  which  the  forest  has  been 
driven  far  back  to  the  horizon  on  either  side,  for  along 
the  great  river  these  many  years  villages  have  clustered, 
with  open  fields  about  them  stretching  far  away.  But 
when  once  the  road  leaves  the  Front,  with  its  towns 
and  villages  and  open  fields,  and  passes  beyond  Mar- 
tintown  and  over  the  North  Branch,  it  reaches  a 
country  where  the  forest  is  more  a  feature  of  the  land- 
scape. And  when  some  dozen  or  more  of  the  cross- 
roads marking  the  concessions  which  lead  off  to  east 
and  west  have  been  passed,  the  road  seems  to  strike 
into  a  different  world.  The  forest  loses  its  conquered 
appearance,  and  dominates  everything.  There  is  for- 
est everywhere.  It  lines  up  close  and  thick  along  the 
road,  and  here  and  there  quite  overshadows  it.  It 
crowds  in  upon  the  little  farms  and  shuts  them  off 
from  one  another  and  from  the  world  outside,  and 
peers  in  through  the  little  windows  of  the  log  houses 
looking  so  small  and  lonely,  but  so  beautiful  in  their 
forest  frames.  At  the  nineteenth  cross-road  the  for- 
est gives  ground  a  little,  for  here  the  road  runs  right 
past  the  new  brick  church,  which  is  almost  finished, 
and  which  will  be  opened  in  a  few  weeks.  Beyond 

4* 


THE      MANSE      IN     THE      BUSH 

the  cross,  the  road  leads  along  the  glebe,  and  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  corner  there  opens  upon 
it  the  big,  heavy  gate  that  the  members  of  the  Rev. 
Alexander  Murray's  congregation  must  swing  when 
they  wish  to  visit  the  manse.  The  opening  of  this 
gate,  made  of  upright  poles  held  by  auger-holes  in  a 
frame  of  bigger  poles,  was  almost  too  great  a  task  for 
the  minister's  seven-year-old  son  Hughie,  who  always 
rode  down,  standing  on  the  hind  axle  of  the  buggy, 
to  open  it  for  his  father.  It  was  a  great  relief 
to  him  when  Long  John  Cameron,  who  had  the 
knack  of  doing  things  for  people's  comfort,  brought 
his  ax  and  big  auger  one  day  and  made  a  kind  of 
cradle  on  the  projecting  end  of  the  top  bar,  which 
he  then  weighted  with  heavy  stones,  so  that  the 
gate,  when  once  the  pin  was  pulled  out  of  the  post, 
would  swing  back  itself  with  Hughie  straddled  on  the 
top  of  it. 

It  was  his  favorite  post  of  observation  when  waiting 
for  his  mother  to  come  home  from  one  of  her  many 
meetings.  And  on  this  particular  March  evening  he 
had  been  waiting  long  and  impatiently. 

Suddenly  he  shouted:  "Horo,  mamma!  Horo!" 
He  had  caught  sight  of  the  little  black  pony  away  up 
at  the  church  hill,  and  had  become  so  wildly  excited 
that  he  was  now  standing  on  the  top  bar  frantically 
waving  his  Scotch  bonnet  by  the  tails.  Down  the 
slope  came  the  pony  on  the  gallop,  for  she  knew  well 
that  soon  Lambert  would  have  her  saddle  off,  and 
that  her  nose  would  be  deep  into  bran  mash  within 
five  minutes  more.  But  her  rider  sat  her  firmly  and 

43 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

brought  her  down  to  a  gentle  trot  by  the  time  the 
gate  was  reached. 

"Horo,  mamma!"  shouted  Hughie,  clambering 
down  to  open  the  gate. 

"Well,  my  darling!  have  you  been  a  good  boy  all 
afternoon?" 

"Huh-huh!  Guess  who's  come  back  from  the 
shanties!" 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  guess.  Who  is  it?"  It  was  a 
very  bright  and  very  sweet  face,  with  large,  serious, 
gray-brown  eyes  that  looked  down  on  the  little  boy. 

"Guess,  mamma!" 

"Why,  who  can  it  be?     Big  Mack?" 

' ' No !"  Hughie  danced  delightedly.  "Try  again. 
He's  not  big." 

"I  am  sure  I  can  never  guess.  Whoa,  Pony!" 
Pony  was  most  unwilling  to  get  in  close  enough  to  the 
gate-post  to  let  Hughie  spring  on  behind  his  mother. 

"You'll  have  to  be  quick,  Hughie,  when  I  get 
near  again.  There  now !  Whoa,  Pony !  Take  care, 
child!" 

Hughie  had  sprung  clean  off  the  post,  and  lighting 
on  Pony's  back  just  behind  the  saddle,  had  clutched 
his  mother  round  the  waist,  while  the  pony  started  off 
full  gallop  for  the  stable. 

"Now,  mother,  who  is  it?"  insisted  Hughie,  as 
Lambert,  the  French-Canadian  man-of-all-work,  lifted 
him  from  his  place. 

"You'll  have  to  tell  me,  Hughie!" 

"Ranald!" 

"Ranald?" 

44 


THE      MANSE      IN     THE      BUSH 

"Yes,  Ranald  and  his  father,  Macdonald  Dubh,  and 
he's  hurted  awful  bad,  and — " 

"Hurt,  Hughie,"  interposed  the  mother,  gently. 

"Huh-huh!     Ranald  said  he  was  hurted." 

"Hurt,  you  mean,  Hughie.  Who  was  hurt? 
Ranald?" 

"No;  his  father  was  hurted — hurt — awful  bad. 
He  was  lying  down  in  the  sleigh,  and  Yankee  Jim — " 

"Mr.  Latham,  you  mean,  Hughie." 

"Huh-huh,"  went  on  Hughie,  breathlessly,  "and 
Yankee — Mr.  Latham  asked  if  the  minister  was  home, 
and  I  said  'No,'  and  then  they  went  away." 

"What  was  the  matter?  Did  you  see  them,  Lam- 
bert?" 

"Oui"  ("Way,"  Lambert  pronounced  it),  "but 
dey  not  tell  me  what  he's  hurt." 

The  minister's  wife  went  toward  the  house,  with 
a  shadow  on  her  face.  She  shared  with  her  husband 
his  people's  sorrows.  She  knew  even  better  than  he 
the  life-history  of  every  family  in  the  congregation. 
Macdonald  Dubh  had  long  been  classed  among  the  wild 
and  careless  in  the  community,  and  it  weighed  upon 
her  heart  that  his  life  might  be  in  danger. 

"I  shall  see  him  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  herself. 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  on  the  doorstep  look- 
ing at  the  glow  in  the  sky  over  the  dark  forest,  which 
on  the  west  side  came  quite  up  to  the  house  and 
barn. 

"Look,  Hughie,  at  the  beautiful  tints  in  the  clouds, 
and  see  the  dark  shadows  pointing  out  toward  us  from 
the  bush."  Hughie  glanced  a  moment. 

45 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Mamma,"  he  said,  "I  am  just  dead  for  supper." 

"Oh,  not  quite,  I  hope,  Hughie.  But  look,  I  want 
you  to  notice  those  clouds  and  the  sky  behind  them. 
How  lovely!  Oh,  how  wonderful!" 

Her  enthusiasm  caught  the  boy,  and  for  a  few 
moment  she  forgot  even  his  hunger,  and  holding  his 
mother's  hand,  gazed  up  at  the  western  sky.  It  was 
a  picture  of  rare  beauty  that  lay  stretched  out  from 
the  manse  back  door.  Close  to  the  barn  came  the 
pasture-field  dotted  with  huge  stumps,  then  the  brfiti 
where  the  trees  lay  fallen  across  one  another,  over 
which  the  fire  had  run,  and  then  the  solid  wall  of  for- 
est here  and  there  overtopped  by  the  lofty  crest  of  a 
white  pine.  Into  the  forest  in  the  west  the  sun  was 
descending  in  gorgeous  robes  of  glory.  The  treetops 
caught  the  yellow  light,  and  gleamed  like  the  golden 
spires  of  some  great  and  fabled  city. 

"Oh,  mamma,  see  that  big  pine  top!  Doesn't  it 
look  like  windows?"  cried  Hughie,  pointing  to  one  of 
the  lofty  pine  crests  through  which  the  sky  quivered 
like  molten  gold. 

"And  the  streets  of  the  city  are  pure  gold,"  said 
the  mother,  softly. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Hughie,  confidently,  for  to 
him  all  the  scenes  and  stories  of  the  Bible  had  long 
been  familiar.  "Is  it  like  that,  mamma?" 

"Much  better,  ever  so  much  better  than  you  can 
think." 

"Oh,  mamma,  I'm  just  awful  hungry!" 

"Come  away,  then;  so  am  I.  What  have  you 
got,  Jessie,  for  two  very  hungry  people?" 

46 


THE      MANSE      IN      THE      BUSH 

"Porridge  and  pancakes,"  said  Jessie,  the  minis- 
ter's "girl,"  who  not  only  ruled  in  the  kitchen,  but, 
using  the  kitchen  as  a  base,  controlled  the  interior 
economy  of  the  manse. 

"Oh,  goody!"  yelled  Hughie;  "just  what  I  like." 
And  from  the  plates  of  porridge  and  the  piles  of  pan- 
cakes that  vanished  from  his  plate  no  one  could  doubt 
his  word. 

Their  reading  that  night  was  about  the  city  whose 
streets  were  of  pure  gold,  and  after  a  little  talk, 
Hughie  and  his  baby  brother  were  tucked  away  safely 
for  the  night,  and  the  mother  sat  down  to  her  never- 
ending  task  of  making  and  mending. 

The  minister  was  away  at  Presbytery  meeting  in 
Montreal,  and  for  ten  days  his  wife  would  stand  in 
the  breach.  Of  course  the  elders  would  take  the 
meeting  on  the  Sabbath  day  and  on  the  Wednesday 
evening,  but  for  all  other  ministerial  duties  when  the 
minister  was  absent  the  congregation  looked  to  the 
minister's  wife.  And  soon  it  came  that  the  sick  and 
the  sorrowing  and  the  sin-burdened  found  in  the  min- 
ister's wife  such  help  and  comfort  and  guidance  as 
made  the  absence  of  the  minister  seem  no  great  trial 
after  all.  Eight  years  ago  the  minister  had  brought 
his  wife  from  a  home  of  gentle  culture,  from  a  life  of 
intellectual  and  artistic  pursuits,  and  from  a  circle  of 
loving  friends  of  which  she  was  the  pride  and  joy, 
to  this  home  in  the  forest.  There,  isolated  from  all 
congenial  companionship  with  her  own  kind,  deprived 
of  all  the  luxuries  and  of  many  of  the  comforts  of  her 
young  days,  and  of  the  mental  stimulus  of  that  con- 

47 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

flict  of  minds  without  which  few  can  maintain  intel- 
lectual life,  she  gave  herself  without  stint  to  her 
husband's  people,  with  never  a  thought  of  self-pity  or 
self-praise.  By  day  and  by  night  she  labored  for  her 
husband  and  family  and  for  her  people,  for  she  thought 
them  hers.  She  taught  the  women  how  to  adorn 
their  rude  homes,  gathered  them  into  Bible  classes 
and  sewing  circles,  where  she  read  and  talked  and 
wrought  and  prayed  with  them  till  they  grew  to  adore 
her  as  a  saint,  and  to  trust  her  as  a  leader  and  friend, 
and  to  be  a  little  like  her.  And  not  the  women  only, 
but  the  men,  too,  loved  and  trusted  her,  and  the  big 
boys  found  it  easier  to  talk  to  the  minister's  wife  than 
to  the  minister  or  to  any  of  his  session.  She  made 
her  own  and  her  children's  clothes,  collars,  hats,  and 
caps,  her  husband's  shirts  and  neckties,  toiling  late 
into  the  morning  hours,  and  all  without  frown  or 
shadow  of  complaint,  and  indeed  without  suspicion 
that  any  but  the  happiest  lot  was  hers,  or  that  she 
was,  as  her  sisters  said,  "just  buried  alive  in  the  back- 
woods." Not  she!  She  lived  to  serve,  and  the  where 
and  how  were  not  hers  to  determine.  So,  with  bright 
face  and  brave  heart,  she  met  her  days  and  faced  the 
battle.  And  scores  of  women  and  men  are  living 
better  and  braver  lives  because  they  had  her  for  their 
minister's  wife. 

But  the  day  had  been  long,  and  the  struggle  with 
the  March  wind  pulls  hard  upon  the  strength,  and 
outside  the  pines  were  crooning  softly,  and  gradually 
the  brave  head  drooped  till  between  the  stitches  she 
fell  asleep.  But  not  for  many  minutes,  for  a  knock 

4* 


THE      MANSE      IN     THE      BUSH 

at  the  kitchen  door  startled  her,  and  before  long  she 
heard  Jessie's  voice  rise  wrathful. 

"Indeed,  I'll  do  no  such  thing.  This  is  no  time 
to  come  to  the  minister's  house." 

For  answer  there  was  a  mumble  of  words. 

"Well,  then,  you  can  just  wait  until  morning. 
She  can  go  in  the  morning." 

"What  is  it,  Jessie?"  The  minister's  wife  came 
into  the  kitchen. 

"Oh,  Ranald,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back.  Hughie 
told  me  you  had  come.  But  your  father  is  ill,  he 
said.  How  is  he?" 

Ranald  shook  hands  shyly,  feeling  much  ashamed 
under  Jessie's  sharp  reproof. 

"Indeed,  it  was  Aunt  Kirsty  that  sent  me,"  said 
Ranald,  apologetically. 

"Then  she  ought  to  have  known  better,"  said 
Jessie,  sharply. 

"Never  mind,  Jessie-  Ranald,  tell  me  about  your 
father." 

"He  is  very  bad  indeed,  and  my  aunt  is  afraid 
that — "  The  boy's  lip  trembled.  Then  he  went 
on:  "And  she  thought  perhaps  you  might  have  some 
medicine,  and — " 

"But  what  is  the  matter,  Ranald?" 

"He  was  hurted  bad — and  he  is  not  right  wise  in 
his  head." 

"But  how  was  he  hurt?" 

Ranald  hesitated. 

"I  was  not  there — I  am  thinking  it  was  something 
that  struck  him." 

49 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Ah,  a  tree!     But  where  did  the  tree  strike  him?" 

"Here,"  pointing  to  his  breast;  "and  it  is  sore  in 
his  breathing." 

"Well,  Ranald,  if  you  put  the  saddle  on  Pony,  I 
shall  be  ready  in  a  minute." 

Jessie  was  indignant. 

"You  will  not  stir  a  foot  this  night.  You  will 
send  some  medicine,  and  then  you  can  go  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

But  the  minister's  wife  heeded  her  not. 

"You  are  not  walking,  Ranald?" 

"No,  I  have  the  colt." 

"Oh,  that's  splendid.  We'll  have  a  fine  gallop — 
that  is,  if  the  moon  is  up." 

"Yes,  it  is  just  coming  up,"  said  Ranald,  hurrying 
away  to  the  stable  that  he  might  escape  Jessie's  wrath 
and  get  the  pony  ready. 

It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  the  minister  and  his 
wife  to  be  called  upon  to  do  duty  for  doctor  and 
nurse.  The  doctor  was  twenty  miles  away.  So 
Mrs.  Murray  got  into  her  riding-habit,  threw  her 
knitted  hood  over  her  head,  put  some  simple  medi- 
cines into  her  hand-bag,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  wait- 
ing for  Ranald  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  RIDE  FOR  LIFE 

The  night  was  clear,  with  a  touch  of  frost  in  the 
air,  yet  with  the  feeling  in  it  of  approaching  spring. 
A  dim  light  fell  over  the  forest  from  the  half-moon 
and  the  stars,  and  seemed  to  fill  up  the  little  clearing 
in  which  the  manse  stood,  with  a  weird  and  mysteri- 
ous radiance.  Far  away  in  the  forest  the  long-drawn 
howl  of  a  wolf  rose  and  fell,  and  in  a  moment  sharp 
and  clear  came  an  answer  from  the  bush  just  at  hand. 
Mrs.  Murray  dreaded  the  wolves,  but  she  was  no 
coward  and  scorned  to  show  fear. 

''The  wolves  are  out,  Ranald,"  she  said,  carelessly, 
as  Ranald  came  up  with  the  pony. 

"They  are  not  many,  I  think,"  answered  the  boy 
as  carelessly;  "but — are  you — do  you  think — per- 
haps I  could  just  take  the  medicine — and  you  will 
come — " 

"Nonsense,  Ranald!  bring  up  the  pony.  Do  you 
think  I  have  lived  all  this  time  in  Indian  Lands  to  be 
afraid  of  a  wolf?" 

"Indeed,  you  are  not  afraid,  I  know  that  well!" 
Ranald  shrank  from  laying  the  crime  of  being  afraid 
at  the  door  of  the  minister's  wife,  whose  fearlessness 
was  proverbial  in  the  community;  "but  maybe — " 
The  truth  was,  Ranald  would  rather  be  alone  if  the 
wolves  came  out. 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

But  Mrs.  Murray  was  in  the  saddle,  and  the  pony 
was  impatient  to  be  off. 

"We  will  go  by  the  Camerons'  clearing,  and  then 
take  their  wood  track.  It  is  a  better  road,"  said 
Ranald,  after  they  had  got  through  the  big  gate. 

"Now,  Ranald,  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  the 
swamp,  and  by  the  Camerons'  is  much  longer." 

"Indeed,  I  hear  them  say  that  you  are  not  afraid 
of  the — of  anything,"  said  Ranald,  quickly,  "but  this 
road  is  better  for  the  horses." 

"Come  on,  then,  with  your  colt" ;  and  the  pony 
darted  away  on  her  quick-springing  gallop,  followed 
by  the  colt  going  with  a  long,  easy,  loping  stride. 
For  a  mile  they  kept  side  by  side  till  they  reached  the 
Camerons'  lane,  when  Ranald  held  in  the  colt  and 
allowed  the  pony  to  lead.  As  they  passed  through 
the  Camerons'  yard  the  big  black  dogs,  famous  bear- 
hunters,  came  baying  at  them.  The  pony  regarded 
them  with  indifference,  but  the  colt  shied  and  plunged. 

"Whoa,  Liz!"  Liz  was  Ranald's  contraction  for 
Lizette,  the  name  the  French  horse-trainer  and 
breeder,  Jules  La  Rocque,  gave  to  her  mother,  who 
in  her  day  was  queen  of  the  ice  at  L' Original  Christ- 
mas races. 

"Be  quate,  Nigger,  will  you!"  The  dogs,  who 
knew  Ranald  well,  ceased  their  clamor,  but  not  before 
the  kitchen  door  opened  and  Don  Cameron  came  out. 

Don  was  about  a  year  older  than  Ranald  and  was 
his  friend  and  comrade. 

"It's  me,  Don — and  Mrs.  Murray  there." 

Don  gazed  speechless. 

52 


THE         RIDE        FOR        LIFE 

"And  what — "  he  began. 

"Father  is  not  well.  He  is  hurted,  and  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray is  going  to  see  him,  and  we  must  go." 

Ranald  hurried  through  his  story,  impatient  to  get 
on. 

"But  are  you  going  up  through  the  bush?"  asked 
Don. 

"Yes,  what  else,  Don?"  asked  Mrs.  Murray.  "It 
is  a  good  road,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  it  is  good  enough,"  said  Don, 
doubtfully,  "but  I  heard—" 

"We  will  come  out  at  our  own  clearing  at  the 
back,  you  know,"  Ranald  hurried  to  say,  giving  Don 
a  kick.  "Whist,  man!  She  is  set  upon  going." 
At  that  moment  away  off  toward  the  swamp,  which 
they  were  avoiding,  the  long,  heart-chilling  cry  of  a 
mother  wolf  quavered  on  the  still  night  air.  In  spite 
of  herself,  Mrs.  Murray  shivered,  and  the  boys  looked 
at  each  other. 

"There  is  only  one,"  said  Ranald  in  a  low  voice 
to  Don,  but  they  both  knew  that  where  the  she  wolf 
is  there  is  a  pack  not  far  off.  "And  we  will  be  through 
the  bush  in  five  minutes." 

"Come,  Ranald!  Come  away,  you  can  talk  to 
Don  any  time.  Good  night,  Don."  And  so  saying 
she  headed  her  pony  toward  the  clearing  and  was  off 
at  a  gallop,  and  Ranald,  shaking  his  head  at  his  friend, 
ejaculated : 

"Man  alive!  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  and  was 
off  after  the  pony. 

Together  they  entered  the  bush.  The  road  was 
53 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

well  beaten  and  the  horses  were  keen  to  go,  so  that 
before  many  minutes  were  over  they  were  half  through 
the  bush.  Ranald's  spirits  rose  and  he  began  to  take 
some  interest  in  his  companion's  observations  upon 
the  beauty  of  the  lights  and  shadows  falling  across 
their  path. 

"Look  at  that  very  dark  shadow  from  the  spruce 
there,  Ranald,"  she  cried,  pointing  to  a  deep,  black 
turn  in  the  road.  For  answer  there  came  from  behind 
them  the  long,  mournful  hunting-cry  of  the  wolf.  He 
was  on  their  track.  Immediately  it  was  answered  by 
a  chorus  of  howls  from  the  bush  on  the  swamp  side, 
but  still  far  away.  There  was  no  need  of  command ; 
the  pony  sprang  forward  with  a  snort  and  the  colt 
followed,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  running,  passed 
her. 

"Whow-oo-oo-oo-ow"  rose  the  long  cry  of  the 
pursuer,  summoning  help,  and  drawing  nearer. 

"  Wow-ee-wow, "  came  the  shorter,  sharper  answer 
from  the  swamp,  but  much  nearer  than  before  and 
more  in  front.  They  were  trying  to  head  off  their 
prey. 

Ranald  tugged  at  his  colt  till  he  got  him  back  with 
the  pony. 

"It  is  a  good  road,"  he  said,  quietly;  "you  can 
let  the  pony  go.  I  will  follow  you."  He  swung  in 
behind  the  pony,  who  was  now  running  for  dear  life 
and  snorting  with  terror  at  every  jump. 

"God  preserve  us!"  said  Ranald  to  himself.  He 
had  caught  sight  of  a  dark  form  as  it  darted  through 
the  gleam  of  light  in  front. 

54 


THE         RIDE         FOR         LIFE 

"What  did  you  say,  Ranald?"  The  voice  was 
quiet  and  clear. 

"It  is  a  great  pony  to  run  whatever,"  said  Ranald, 
ashamed  of  himself. 

"Is  she  not?" 

Ranald  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Down  the 
road,  running  with  silent,  awful  swiftness,  he  saw  the 
long,  low  body  of  the  leading  wolf  flashing  through 
the  bars  of  moonlight  across  the  road,  and  the  pack 
following  hard. 

4 '  Let  her  go,  Mrs.  Murray, ' '  cried  Ranald.  ' '  Whip 
her  and  never  stop."  But  there  was  no  need;  the 
pony  was  wild  with  fear,  and  was  doing  her  best  run- 
ning. 

Ranald  meantime  was  gradually  holding  in  the  colt, 
and  the  pony  drew  away  rapidly.  But  as  rapidly  the 
wolves  were  closing  in  behind  him.  They  were  not 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  gaining  every 
second.  Ranald,  remembering  the  suspicious  nature 
of  the  brutes,  loosened  his  coat  and  dropped  it  on  the 
road ;  with  a  chorus  of  yelps  they  paused,  then  threw 
themselves  upon  it,  and  in  another  minute  took  up 
the  chase. 

But  now  the  clearing  was  in  sight.  The  pony  was 
far  ahead,  and  Ranald  shook  out  his  colt  with  a  yell. 
He  was  none  too  soon,  for  the  pursuing  pack,  now 
uttering  short,  shrill  yelps,  were  close  at  the  colt's 
heels.  Lizette,  fleet  as  the  wind,  could  not  shake 
them  off.  Closer  and  ever  closer  they  came,  snap- 
ping and  snarling.  Ranald  could  see  them  over  his 
shoulder.  A  hundred  yards  more  and  he  would  reach 

55 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

his  own  back  lane.  The  leader  of  the  pack  seemed  to 
feel  that  his  chances  were  slipping  swiftly  away.  With 
a  spurt  he  gained  upon  Lizette,  reached  the  saddle- 
girths,  gathered  himself  in  two  short  jumps,  and  sprang 
for  the  colt's  throat.  Instinctively  Ranald  stood  up 
in  his  stirrups,  and  kicking  his  foot  free,  caught  the 
wolf  under  the  jaw.  The  brute  fell  with  a  howl  under 
the  colt's  feet,  and  next  moment  they  were  in  the 
lane  and  safe. 

The  savage  brutes,  discouraged  by  their  leader's 
fall,  slowed  down  their  fierce  pursuit,  and  hearing 
the  deep  bay  of  the  Macdonalds'  great  deerhound, 
Bugle,  up  at  the  house,  they  paused,  sniffed  the  air  a 
few  minutes,  then  turned  and  swiftly  and  silently  slid 
into  the  dark  shadows.  Ranald,  knowing  that  they 
would  hardly  dare  enter  the  lane,  checked  the  colt, 
and  wheeling,  watched  them  disappear. 

"I'll  have  some  of  your  hides  some  day,"  he  cried, 
shaking  his  fist  after  them.  He  hated  to  be  made  to 
run. 

He  had  hardly  set  the  colt's  face  homeward  when 
he  heard  something  tearing  down  the  lane  to  meet 
him.  The  colt  snorted,  swerved,  and  then  dropping 
his  ears,  stood  still.  It  was  Bugle,  and  after  him 
came  Mrs.  Murray  on  the  pony. 

"Oh,  Ranald!"  she  panted,  "thank  God  you  are 
safe.  I  was  afraid  you — you — "  Her  voice  broke 
in  sobs.  Her  hood  had  fallen  back  from  her  white 
face,  and  her  eyes  were  shining  like  two  stars.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  Ranald's  arm,  and  her  voice  grew 
steady  as  she  said:  "Thank  God,  my  boy,  and  thank 

56 


THE         RIDE         FOR         LIFE 

you  with  all  my  heart.     You  risked  your  life  for  mine. 
You  are  a  brave  fellow!     I  can  never  forget  this!" 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  Ranald,  awkwardly.  "You 
are  better  stuff  than  I  am.  You  came  back  with 
Bugle.  And  I  knew  Liz  could  beat  the  pony  what- 
ever." Then  they  walked  their  horses  quietly  to  the 
stable,  and  nothing  more  was  said  by  either  of  them; 
but  from  that  hour  Ranald  had  a  friend  ready  to  offer 
life  for  him,  though  he  did  not  know  it  then  nor  till 
years  afterward. 


57 


CHAPTER  V 

FORGIVE  US  OUR  DEBTS 

Macdonald  Dubh's  farm  lay  about  three  miles  north 
and  west  from  the  manse,  and  the  house  stood  far 
back  from  the  cross-road  in  a  small  clearing  encircled 
by  thick  bush.  It  was  a  hard  farm  to  clear,  the  tim- 
ber was  heavy,  the  land  lay  low,  and  Macdonald  Dubh 
did  not  make  as  much  progress  as  his  neighbors  in  his 
conflict  with  the  forest.  Not  but  that  he  was  a  hard 
worker  and  a  good  man  with  the  ax,  but  somehow  he 
did  not  succeed  as  a  farmer.  It  may  have  been  that 
his  heart  was  more  in  the  forest  than  in  the  farm.  He 
was  a  famous  hunter,  and  in  the  deer  season  was  never 
to  be  found  at  home,  but  was  ever  ranging  the  woods 
with  his  rifle  and  his  great  deerhound,  Bugle. 

He  made  money  at  the  shanties,  but  money  would 
not  stick  to  his  fingers,  and  by  the  time  the  summer 
was  over  most  of  his  money  would  be  gone,  with  the 
government  mortgage  on  his  farm  still  unlifted.  His 
habits  of  life  wrought  a  kind  of  wildness  in  him  which 
set  him  apart  from  the  thrifty,  steady-going  people 
among  whom  he  lived.  True,  the  shanty-men  were 
his  stanch  friends  and  admirers,  but  then  the  shanty- 
men,  though  well-doing,  could  hardly  be  called  steady, 
except  the  boss  of  the  Macdonald  gang,  Macdonald 
Bhain,  who  was  a  regular  attendant  and  stanch  sup- 
porter of  the  church,  and  indeed  had  been  spoken  of 

58 


FORGIVE        US       OUR       DEBTS 

for  an  elder.  But  from  the  church  Macdonald  Dubh 
held  aloof.  He  belonged  distinctly  to  the  "careless," 
though  he  could  not  be  called  irreligious.  He  had  all 
the  reverence  for  "the  Word  of  God,  and  the  Sabbath 
day,  and  the  church"  that  characterized  his  people. 
All  these  held  a  high  place  in  his  esteem ;  and  though 
he  would  not  presume  to  "take  the  books,"  not  being 
a  member  of  the  church,  yet  on  the  Sabbath  day  when 
he  was  at  home  it  was  the  custom  of  the  household  to 
gather  for  the  reading  of  the  Word  before  breakfast. 
He  would  never  take  his  rifle  with  him  through  the 
woods  on  the  Sabbath,  and  even  when  absent  from 
home  on  a  hunting  expedition,  when  the  Sabbath  day 
came  round,  he  religiously  kept  camp.  It  is  true,  he 
did  not  often  go  to  church,  and  when  the  minister 
spoke  to  him  about  this,  he  always  agreed  that  it  was  a 
good  thing  to  go  to  church.  When  he  had  no  better 
excuse,  he  would  apologize  for  his  absence  upon  the 
ground  "that  he  had  not  the  clothes."  The  greater 
part  of  the  trouble  was  that  he  was  shy  and  proud, 
and  felt  himself  to  be  different  from  the  church-going 
people  of  the  community,  and  shrank  from  the  sur- 
prised looks  of  members,  and  even  from  the  words  of 
approving  welcome  that  often  greeted  his  presence  in 
church. 

It  was  not  according  to  his  desire  that  Ranald  was 
sent  to  the  manse.  That  was  the  doing  of  his  sister, 
Kirsty,  who  for  the  last  ten  years  had  kept  house  for 
him.  Not  that  there  was  much  housekeeping  skill 
about  Kirsty,  as  indeed  any  one  might  see  even  with- 
out entering  Macdonald  Dubh's  house.  Kirsty  was 

59 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

big  and  strong  and  willing,  but  she  had  not  the  most 
elemental  ideas  of  tidiness.  Her  red,  bushy  hair  hung 
in  wisps  about  her  face,  after  the  greater  part  of  it  had 
been  gathered  into  a  tight  knob  at  the  back  of  her 
head.  She  was  a  martyr  to  the  "neuralagy, "  and 
suffered  from  a  perennial  cold  in  the  head,  which  made 
it  necessary  for  her  to  wear  a  cloud,  which  was  only 
removed  when  it  could  be  replaced  by  her  nightcap. 
Her  face  always  bore  the  marks  of  her  labors,  and 
from  it  one  could  gather  whether  she  was  among  the 
pots  or  busy  with  the  baking.  But  she  was  kind- 
hearted,  and,  up  to  her  light,  sought  to  fill  the  place 
left  empty  by  the  death  of  the  wife  and  mother  in  that 
home,  ten  years  before. 

When  the  minister's  wife  opened  the  door,  a  hot, 
close,  foul  smell  rushed  forth  to  meet  her.  Upon  the 
kitchen  stove  a  large  pot  of  pig's  food  was  boiling,  and 
the  steam  and  smell  from  the  pot  made  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  room  overpoweringly  fetid.  Off  the  kitch- 
en or  living-room  were  two  small  bedrooms,  in  one  of 
which  lay  Macdonald  Dubh. 

Kirsty  met  the  minister's  wife  with  a  warm  wel- 
come. She  helped  her  off  with  her  hood  and  coat, 
patting  her  on  the  shoulder  the  while,  and  murmuring 
words  of  endearment. 

"Ah,  M'eudail!  M'eudail  bheg!  and  did  you  come 
through  the  night  all  the  way,  and  it  is  ashamed  that 
I  am  to  have  sent  for  you,  but  he  was  very  bad  and  I 
was  afraid.  Come  away!  come  away!  I  will  make 
you  a  cup  of  tea."  But  the  minister's  wife  assured 
Kirsty  that  she  was  glad  to  come,  and  declining  the 

60 


FORGIVE       US       OUR       DEBTS 

cup  of  tea,  went  to  the  room  where  Macdonald  Dubh 
lay  tossing  and  moaning  with  the  delirium  of  fever 
upon  him.  It  was  not  long  before  she  knew  what 
was  required. 

With  hot  fomentations  she  proceeded  to  allay  the 
pain,  and  in  half  an  hour  Macdonald  Dubh  grew  quiet. 
His  tossings  and  mutterings  ceased  and  he  fell  into  a 
sleep. 

Kirsty  stood  by  admiring. 

"Mercy  me!  Look  at  that  now;  and  it  is  yourself 
that  is  the  great  doctor!" 

"Now,  Kirsty,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  in  a  very  matter- 
of-fact  tone,  "we  will  just  make  him  a  little  more 
comfortable." 

"Yes,"  said  Kirsty,  not  quite  sure  how  the  feat 
was  to  be  achieved.  "A  little  hot  something  for  his 
inside  will  be  good,  but  indeed,  many's  the  drink  I 
have  given  him,"  she  suggested. 

"What  have  you  been  giving  him,  Kirsty?" 

"Senny  and  dandylion,  and  a  little  whisky.  They 
will  be  telling  me  it  is  ferry  good  whatever  for  the 
stomach  and  bow'ls. " 

"I  don't  think  I  would  give  him  any  more  of  that; 
but  we  will  try  and  make  him  feel  a  little  more  com- 
fortable." 

Mrs.  Murray  knew  she  was  treading  on  delicate 
ground.  The  Highland  pride  is  quick  to  take  offense. 

"Sick  people,  you  see,"  she  proceeded  carefully, 
"need  very  frequent  changes — sheets  and  clothing, 
you  understand." 

"Aye,"  said  Kirsty,  suspiciously. 
61 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"I  am  sure  you  have  plenty  of  beautiful  sheets, 
and  we  will  change  these  when  he  wakes  from  his 
sleep." 

"Indeed,  they  are  very  clean,  for  there  is  no  one 
but  myself  has  slept  in  them  since  he  went  away  last 
fall  to  the  shanties." 

Mrs.  Murray  felt  the  delicacy  of  the  position  to  be 
sensibly  increased. 

"Indeed,  that  is  right,  Kirsty;  one  can  never  tell 
just  what  sort  of  people  are  traveling  about  nowadays." 

"Indeed,  and  it's  true,"  said  Kirsty,  heartily,  "but 
I  never  let  them  in  here.  I  just  keep  them  to  the 
bunk." 

"But,"  pursued  Mrs.  Murray,  returning  to  the 
subject  in  hand,  "it  is  very  important  that  for  sick 
people  the  sheets  should  be  thoroughly  aired  and 
warmed.  Why,  in  the  hospital  in  Montreal  they  take 
the  very  greatest  care  to  air  and  change  the  sheets 
every  day.  You  see  so  much  poison  comes  through 
the  pores  of  the  skin." 

"Do  you  hear  that  now?"  said  Kirsty,  amazed. 
"Indeed,  I  would  be  often  hearing  that  those  French 
people  are  just  full  of  poison  and  such,  and  indeed, 
it  is  no  wonder,  for  the  food  they  put  inside  of  them." 

"O,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  "it  is  the  same  with 
all  people,  but  especially  so  with  sick  people. 

Kirsty  looked  as  doubtful  as  was  consistent  with 
her  respect  for  the  minister's  wife,  and  Mrs.  Murray 
went  on. 

"So  you  will  just  get  the  sheets  ready  to  change, 
and,  Kirsty,  a  clean  night-shirt." 

6a 


FORGIVE       US       OUR       DEBTS 

"Night-shirt!  and  indeed,  he  has  not  such  a  thing 
to  his  name."  Kirsty's  tone  betrayed  her  thankful- 
ness that  her  brother  was  free  from  the  effeminacy  of 
a  night-shirt;  but  noting  the  dismay  and  confusion 
on  Mrs.  Murray's  face,  she  suggested,  hesitatingly, 
"He  might  have  one  of  my  own,  but  I  am  thinking 
it  will  be  small  for  him  across  the  back." 

"I  am  afraid  so,  Kirsty,"  said  the  minister's  wife, 
struggling  hard  with  a  smile.  "We  will  just  use  one 
of  his  own  white  shirts."  But  this  scandalized  Kirsty 
as  an  unnecessary  and  wasteful  luxury. 

"Indeed,  there  is  plenty  of  them  in  the  chist,  but 
he  will  be  keeping  them  for  the  communion  season, 
and  the  funerals,  and  such.  He  will  not  be  wearing 
them  in  his  bed,  for  no  one  will  be  seeing  him  there 
at  all." 

But  he  will  feel  so  much  better,"  said  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, and  her  smile  was  so  sweet  and  winning  that 
Kirsty's  opposition  collapsed,  and  without  more  words 
both  sheets  and  shirt  were  produced. 

As  Kirsty  laid  them  out  she  observed  with  a  sigh : 
"Aye,  aye,  she  was  the  clever  woman — the  wife,  I 
mean.  She  was  good  with  the  needle,  and  indeed, 
at  anything  she  tried  to  do." 

"I  did  not  know  her,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  softly, 
"but  every  one  tells  me  she  was  a  good  housekeeper 
and  a  good  woman." 

"She  was  that,"  said  Kirsty,  emphatically,  "and 
she  was  the  light  of  his  eyes,  and  it  was  a  bad  day  for 
Hugh  when  she  went  away." 

"Now,  Kirsty,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  after  a  pause, 
63 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

"before  we  put  on  these  clean  things,  we  will  just 
give  him  a  sponge  bath." 

Kirsty  gasped. 

"Mercy  sakes!  He  will  not  be  needing  that  in  the 
winter,  and  he  will  be  getting  a  cold  from  it.  In  the 
summer-time  he  will  be  going  to  the  river  himself. 
And  how  will  you  be  giving  him  a  bath  whatever?" 

Mrs.  Murray  carefully  explained  the  process,  again 
fortifying  her  position  by  referring  to  the  practices  of 
the  Montreal  hospital,  till,  as  a  result  of  her  persua- 
sions and  instructions,  in  an  hour  after  Macdonald  had 
awakened  from  his  sleep  he  was  lying  in  his  Sabbath 
white  shirt  and  between  fresh  sheets,  and  feeling 
cleaner  and  more  comfortable  than  he  had  for  many  a 
day.  The  fever  was  much  reduced,  and  he  fell  again 
into  a  deep  sleep. 

The  two  women  watched  beside  him,  for  neither 
would  leave  the  other  to  watch  alone.  And  Ranald, 
who  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go  up  to  his  loft,  lay 
on  the  bunk  in  the  kitchen  and  dozed.  After  an  hour 
had  passed,  Mrs.  Murray  inquired  as  to  the  nourish- 
ment Kirsty  had  given  her  brother. 

' '  Indeed,  he  will  not  be  taking  anything  whatever, ' ' 
said  Kirsty,  in  a  vexed  tone.  "And  it  is  no  matter 
what  I  will  be  giving  him." 

"And  what  does  he  like,  Kirsty?" 

"Indeed,  he  will  be  taking  anything  when  he  is 
not  seek,  and  he  is  that  fond  of  buckwheat  pancakes 
and  pork  gravy  with  maple  syrup  over  them,  but 
would  he  look  at  it !  And  I  made  him  new  porridge 
to-night,  but  he  would  not  touch  them." 

64 


FORGIVE        US       OUR       DEBTS 

"Did  you  try  him  with  gruel,  Kirsty?" 

"Mercy  me,  and  is  it  Macdonald  Dubh  and  gruel? 
He  would  be  flinging  the  feushionless  stuff  out  of  the 
window." 

"But  I  am  sure  it  would  be  good  f-or  him  if  he 
could  be  persuaded  to  try  it.  I  should  like  to  try 
him." 

' '  Indeed,  and  you  may  try.  It  will  be  easy  enough, 
for  the  porridge  are  still  in  the  pot." 

Kirsty  took  the  pot  from  the  bench,  with  the  re- 
mains of  the  porridge  that  had  been  made  for  supper 
still  in  it,  set  it  on  the  fire,  and  pouring  some  water 
in  it,  began  to  stir  it  vigorously.  It  was  thick  and 
slimy,  and  altogether  a  most  repulsive-looking  mix- 
ture, and  Mrs.  Murray  no  longer  wondered  at  Mac- 
donald Dubh's  distaste  for  gruel. 

"I  think  I  will  make  some  fresh,  if  you  will  let  me, 
Kirsty — in  the  way  I  make  it  for  the  minister,  you 
know." 

Kirsty,  by  this  time,  had  completely  surrendered 
to  Mrs.  Murray's  guidance,  and  producing  the  oat- 
meal, allowed  her  to  have  her  way ;  so  that  when 
Macdonald  awoke  he  found  Mrs.  Murray  standing 
beside  him  with  a  bowl  of  the  nicest  gruel  and  a  slice 
of  thin  dry  toast. 

He  greeted  the  minister's  wife  with  grave  courtesy, 
drank  the  gruel,  and  then  lay  down  again  to  sleep. 

"Will  you  look  at  that  now?"  said  Kirsty,  amazed 
at  Macdonald  Dubh's  forbearance.  "He  would  not 
like  to  be  offending  you." 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  besought  Kirsty  to  go  and  lie 


THEMAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

down    for   an   hour,   which    Kirsty  very  unwillingly 
agreed  to  do. 

It  was  not  long  before  Macdonald  began  to  toss 
and  mutter  in  his  sleep,  breaking  forth  now  and  then 
into  wild  cries  and  curses.  He  was  fighting  once  more 
his  great  fight  in  the  Glengarry  line,  and  beating  back 
LeNoir. 

"Back,  ye  devil!  Would  ye?  Take  that,  then. 
Come  back,  Mack!"  Then  followed  a  cry  so  wild 
that  Ranald  awoke  and  came  into  the  room. 

"Bring  in  some  snow,  Ranald,"  said  the  minister's 
wife;  "we  will  lay  some  on  his  head." 

She  bathed  the  hot  face  and  hands  with  ice-cold 
water,  and  then  laid  a  snow  compress  on  the  sick 
man's  head,  speaking  to  him  in  quiet,  gentle  tones, 
till  he  was  soothed  again  to  sleep. 

When  the  gray  light  of  the  morning  came  in  through 
the  little  window,  Macdonald  woke  sane  and  quiet. 

"You  are  better,"  said  Mrs.  Murray  to  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am  very  well,  thank  you, 
except  for  the  pain  here."  He  pointed  to  his  chest. 

"You  have  been  badly  hurt,  Ranald  tells  me. 
How  did  it  happen?" 

"Well,"  said  Macdonald,  slowly,  "it  is  very  hard 
to  say." 

"Did  the  tree  fall  on  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Murray. 

Macdonald  glanced  at  her  quickly,  and  then  an- 
swered: "It  is  very  dangerous  work  with  the  trees. 
It  is  wonderful  how  quick  they  will  fall." 

"Your  face  and  breast  seem  very  badly  bruised  and 
cut." 

66 


FORGIVE       US       OUR       DEBTS 

"Aye,  yes,"  said  Macdonald.  "The  breast  is  bad 
whatever. ' ' 

"I  think  you  had  better  send  for  Doctor  Grant," 
Mrs.  Murray  said.  "There  may  be  some  internal 
injury." 

"No,  no,"  said  Macdonald,  decidedly.  "I  will 
have  no  doctor  at  me,  and  I  will  soon  be  rdund  again, 
if  the  Lord  will.  When  will  the  minister  be  home?" 

But  Mrs.  Murray,  ignoring  his  attempt  to  escape 
the  subject,  went  on:  "Yes,  but,  Mr.  Macdonald,  I 
am  anxious  to  have  Doctor  Grant  see  you,  and  I  wish 
you  would  send  for  him  to-morrow." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Macdonald,  not  committing  him- 
self, "we  will  be  seeing  about  that.  But  the  doctor 
has  not  been  in  this  house  for  many  a  day."  Then, 
after  a  pause,  he  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "Not  since  the 
day  she  was  taken  from  me. ' ' 

"Was  she  ill  long?" 

"Indeed,  no.  It  was  just  one  night.  There  was 
no  doctor,  and  the  women  could  not  help  her,  and  she 
was  very  bad — and  when  it  came  it  was  a  girl — and  it 
was  dead — and  then  the  doctor  arrived,  but  he  was 
too  late."  Macdonald  Dubh  finished  with  a  great 
sigh,  and  the  minister's  wife  said  gently  to  him : 

"That  was  a  very  sad  day,  and  a  great  loss  to  you 
and  Ranald." 

"Aye,  you  may  say  it;  she  was  a  bonnie  woman 
whatever,  and  grand  at  the  spinning  and  the  butter. 
And,  oich-hone,  it  was  a  sad  day  for  us." 

The  minister's  wife  sat  silent,  knowing  that  such 
grief  cannot  be  comforted,  and  pitying  from  her  heart 

67 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

the  lonely  man.  After  a  time  she  said  gently,  "She 
is  better  off." 

A  look  of  doubt  and  pain  and  fear  came  into  Mac- 
donald's  eyes. 

"She  never  came  forward,"  he  said,  hesitatingly. 
"She  was  afraid  to  come." 

"I  have  heard  of  her  often,  Mr.  Macdonald,  and  I 
have  heard  that  she  was  a  good  and  gentle  woman." 

"Aye,  she  was  that." 

"And  kind  to  the  sick." 

"You  may  believe  it." 

"And  she  loved  the  house  of  God." 

"Aye,  and  neither  rain  nor  snow  nor  mud  would 
be  keeping  her  from  it,  but  she  would  be  going  every 
Sabbath  day,  bringing  her  stockings  with  her." 

"Her  stockings?" 

"Aye,  to  change  her  feet  in  the  church.  What 
else?  Her  stockings  would  be  wet  with  the  snow  and 
water." 

Mrs.  Murray  nodded.  "And  she  loved  her  Saviour, 
Mr.  Macdonald." 

"Indeed,  I  believe  it  well,  but  she  was  afraid  she 
would  not  be  having  'the  marks.'  ' 

"Never  y^ou  fear,  Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray. "If  she  loved  her  Saviour  she  is  with  him  now." 

He  turned  around  to  her  and  lifted  himself  eagerly 
on  his  elbow.  "And  do  you  really  think  that?"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  subdued  and  anxious. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  in  a  tone  of 
certain  conviction. 

Macdonald  sank  back  on  his  pillow,  and  after  a 
68 


FORGIVE       US       OUR       DEBTS 

moment's  silence,  said,  in  a  voice  of  pain:  "Oh,  but  it 
is  a  peety  she  did  not  know!  It  is  a  peety  she  did 
not  know.  For  many's  the  time  before — before — 
her  hour  came  on  her,  she  would  be  afraid." 

"But  she  was  not  afraid  at  the  last,  Mr.  Macdon- 
ald?" 

"Indeed,  no.  I  wondered  at  her.  She  was  like  a 
babe  in  its  mother's  arms.  There  was  a  light  on  her 
face,  and  I  mind  well  what  she  said."  Macdonald 
paused.  There  was  a  stir  in  the  kitchen,  and  Mrs. 
Murray,  glancing  behind  her,  saw  Ranald  standing 
near  the  door  intently  listening.  Then  Macdonald 
went  on.  "I  mind  well  the  words,  as  if  it  was  yes- 
terday. 'Hugh,  my  man,'  she  said,  'am  no  feared' 
(she  was  from  the  Lowlands,  but  she  was  a  fine 
woman);  'I  haena  the  marks,  but  'm  no  feared  but 
He'll  ken  me.  Ye'll  tak'  care  o'  Ranald,  for,  oh, 
Hugh!  I  ha'  gi'en  him  to  the  Lord.  The  Lord  help 
you  to  mak'  a  guid  man  o'  him.'  '  Macdonald's  voice 
faltered  into  silence,  then,  after  a  few  moments,  he 
cried,  "And  oh!  Mistress  Murra',  I  cannot  tell  you 
the  often  these  words  do  keep  coming  to  me ;  and  it  is 
myself  that  has  not  kept  the  promise  I  made  to  her, 
and  may  the  Lord  forgive  me." 

The  look  of  misery  in  the  dark  eyes  touched  Mrs. 
Murray  to  the  heart.  She  laid  her  hand  on  Macdon- 
ald's arm,  but  she  could  not  find  words  to  speak. 
Suddenly  Macdonald  recalled  himself. 

"You  will  forgive  me,"  he  said;  "and  you  will 
not  be  telling  any  one." 

By  this  time  the  tears  were  streaming  down  her 
69 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

face,  and  Mrs.  Murray  could  only  say,  brokenly, 
"You  know  I  will  not." 

"Aye,  I  do,"  said  Macdonald,  with  a  sigh  of  con- 
tent, and  he  turned  his  face  away  from  her  to  the  wall. 

"And  now  you  let  me  read  to  you,"  she  said, 
softly,  and  taking  from  her  bag  the  Gaelic  Bible, 
which  with  much  toil  she  had  learned  to  read  since 
coming  to  this  Highland  congregation,  she  read  to 
him  from  the  old  Psalm  those  words,  brave,  tender, 
and  beautiful,  that  have  so  often  comforted  the  weary 
and  wandering  children  of  men,  "The  Lord  is  my 
Shepherd,"  and  so  on  to  the  end.  Then  from  psalm 
to  psalm  she  passed,  selecting  such  parts  as  suited  her 
purpose,  until  Macdonald  turned  to  her  again  and 
said,  admiringly: 

"It  is  yourself  that  has  the  bonnie  Gaelic." 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "it  is  not 
really  good,  but  it  is  the  best  a  south  country  woman 
can  do." 

"Indeed,  it  is  very  pretty,"  he  said,  earnestly. 

Then  the  minister's  wife  said,  timidly,  "I  cannot 
pray  in  the  Gaelic." 

"Oh,  the  English  will  be  very  good,"  said  Mac- 
donald, and  she  knelt  down  and  in  simple  words 
poured  out  her  heart  in  prayer.  Before  she  rose  from 
her  knees  she  opened  the  Gaelic  Bible,  and  turned  to 
the  words  of  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

"We  will  say  this  prayer  together,"  she  said, 
gently. 

Macdonald,  bowing  his  head  gravely,  answered: 
"It  is  what  she  would  often  be  doing  with  me." 

70 


FORGIVE       US       OUR       DEBTS 

There  was  still  only  one  woman  to  this  lonely 
hearted  man,  and  with  a  sudden  rush  of  pity  that 
showed  itself  in  her  breaking  voice,  the  minister's  wife 
began  in  Gaelic,  "Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven." 

Macdonald  followed  her  in  a  whisper  through  the 
petitions  until  they  came  to  the  words,  "And  forgive 
us  our  debts  as  we  forgive  our  debtors,"  when  he 
paused  and  would  say  no  more.  Mrs.  Murray  re- 
peated the  words  of  the  petition,  but  still  there  was 
no  response.  Then  the  minister's  wife  knew  that  she 
had  her  finger  upon  a  sore  spot,  and  she  finished  the 
prayer  alone. 

For  a  time  she  sat  silent,  unwilling  to  probe  the 
wound,  and  yet  too  brave  to  flinch  from  what  she  felt 
to  be  duty. 

"We  have  much  to  be  forgiven,"  she  said,  gently. 
"More  than  we  can  ever  forgive."  Still  there  was 
silence. 

"And  the  heart  that  cannot  forgive  an  injury  is 
closed  to  the  forgiveness  of  God." 

The  morning  sun  was  gleaming  through  the  tree- 
tops,  and  Mrs.  Murray  was  worn  with  her  night's  vigil, 
and  anxious  to  get  home.  She  rose,  and  offering 
Macdonald  her  hand,  smiled  down  into  his  face,  and 
said:  "Good  by!  We  must  try  to  forgive." 

As  he  took  her  hand,  Macdonald's  dark  face  began 
to  work,  and  he  broke  forth  into  a  bitter  cry. 

"Retook  me  unawares!  And  it  was  a  coward's 
blow!  and  I  will  not  forgive  him  until  I  have  given 
him  what  he  deserves,  if  the  Lord  spares  me!"  And 
then  he  poured  forth,  in  hot  and  bitter  words,  the 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

story  of  the  great  fight.  By  the  time  he  had  finished 
his  tale  Ranald  had  come  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  was 
standing  with  clenched  fists  and  face  pale  with  passion 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

As  Mrs.  Murray  listened  to  this  story  her  eyes  be- 
gan to  burn,  and  when  it  was  over,  she  burst  forth: 
"Oh,  it  was  a  cruel  and  cowardly  and  brutal  thing  for 
men  to  do!  And  did  you  beat  them  off?"  she  asked. 

"Aye,  and  that  we  did,"  burst  in  Ranald.  And 
in  breathless  haste  and  with  flashing  eye  he  told  them 
of  Macdonald  Bhain's  part  in  the  fight. 

"Splendid!"  cried  the  minister's  wife,  forgetting 
herself  for  the  moment. 

"But  he  let  him  go,"  said  Ranald,  sadly.  "He 
would  not  strike  him,  but  just  let  him  go." 

Then  the  minister's  wife  cried  again:  "Ah,  he  is 
a  great  man,  your  uncle!  And  a  great  Christian. 
Greater  than  I  could  have  been,  for  I  would  have 
slain  him  then  and  there."  Her  eyes  flashed,  and 
the  color  flamed  in  her  face  as  she  uttered  these  words. 

"Aye,"  said  Macdonald  Dubh,  regarding  her  with 
deep  satisfaction.  His  tone  and  look  recalled  the 
minister's  wife,  and  turning  to  Ranald,  she  added, 
sadly : 

"But  your  uncle  was  right,  Ranald,  and  we  must 
forgive  even  as  he  did." 

"That,"  cried  Ranald,  with  fierce  emphasis,  "I 
will  never  do,  until  once  I  will  be  having  my  hands 
on  his  throat." 

"Hush,  Ranald!"  said  the  minister's  wife.  "I 
know  it  is  hard,  but  we  must  forgive.  You  see  we 

72 


FORGIVE       US       OUR       DEBTS 

must  forgive.  And  we  must  ask  Him  to  help  us,  who 
has  more  to  forgive  than  any  other." 

But  she  said  no  more  to  Macdonald  Dubh  on  that 
subject  that  morning.  The  fire  of  the  battle  was  in 
her  heart,  and  she  felt  she  could  more  easily  sympa- 
thize with  his  desire  for  vengeance  than  with  the 
Christian  grace  of  forgiveness.  But  as  they  rode 
home  together  through  the  bush,  where  death  had 
trailed  them  so  closely  the  night  before,  the  sweet 
sunlight  and  the  crisp,  fresh  air,  and  all  the  still  beauty 
of  the  morning,  working  with  the  memory  of  their 
saving,  rebuked  and  soothed  and  comforted  her,  and 
when  Ranald  turned  back  from  the  manse  door,  she 
said  softly:  "Our  Father  in  heaven  was  very  good  to 
us,  Ranald,  and  we  should  be  like  him.  He  forgives 
and  loves,  and  we  should,  too." 

And  Ranald,  looking  into  the  sweet  face,  pale  with 
the  long  night's  trials,  but  tinged  now  with  the  faint- 
est touch  of  color  from  the  morning,  felt  somehow 
that  it  might  be  possible  to  forgive. 

But  many  days  had  to  come  and  go,  and  many 
waters  flow  over  the  souls  of  Macdonald  Dubh  and  his 
son  Ranald,  before  they  were  able  to  say,  "Forgive 
us  our  debts  as  we  forgive  our  debtors." 


73 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  NEW  FRIEND 

The  night  race  with  the  wolves  began  a  new  phase 
of  life  for  Ranald,  for  in  that  hour  he  gained  a  friend 
such  as  it  falls  to  few  lads  to  have.  Mrs.  Murray's 
high  courage  in  the  bush,  her  skill  in  the  sick-room, 
and  that  fine  spiritual  air  she  carried  with  her  made 
for  her  a  place  in  his  imagination  where  men  set  their 
divinities.  The  hero  and  the  saint  in  her  stirred  his 
poetic  and  fervent  soul  and  set  it  aglow  with  a  feeling 
near  to  adoration.  To  Mrs.  Murray  also  the  events 
of  that  night  set  forth  Ranald  in  a  new  light.  In  the 
shy,  awkward,  almost  sullen  lad  there  had  suddenly 
been  revealed  in  those  moments  of  peril  the  cool,  dar- 
ing man,  full  of  resource  and  capable  of  self-sacrifice. 
Her  heart  went  out  toward  him,  and  she  set  herself 
to  win  his  confidence  and  to  establish  a  firm  friendship 
with  him ;  but  this  was  no  easy  matter. 

Macdonald  Dubh  and  his  son,  living  a  half-savage 
life  in  their  lonely  back  clearing,  were  regarded  by 
their  neighbors  with  a  certain  degree  of  distrust  and 
fear.  They  were  not  like  other  people.  They  sel- 
dom mingled  in  the  social  festivities  of  the  commu- 
nity, and  consequently  were  more  or  less  excluded  from 
friendship  and  free  intercourse  with  their  neighbors. 
Ranald,  shy,  proud,  and  sensitive,  felt  this  exclusion, 
and  in  return  kept  himself  aloof  even  from  the  boys, 
and  especially  from  the  girls,  of  his  own  age.  His 

74 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

attendance  at  school  was  of  a  fragmentary  and  spas- 
modic nature,  and  he  never  really  came  to  be  on 
friendly  terms  with  his  fellow-pupils.  His  one  friend 
was  Don  Cameron,  whom  the  boys  called  "Wobbles," 
from  his  gait  in  running,  whose  father's  farm  backed 
that  of  Macdonald  Dubh.  And  though  Don  was  a 
year  older,  he  gave  to  Ranald  a  homage  almost 
amounting  to  worship,  for  in  all  those  qualities  that 
go  to  establish  leadership  among  boys,  Ranald  was 
easily  first.  In  the  sport  that  called  for  speed,  cour- 
age, and  endurance  Ranald  was  chief  of  all.  Fleet  of 
foot,  there  was  no  runner  from  the  Twelfth  to  the 
Twentieth  that  could  keep  him  in  sight,  and  when  he 
stood  up  to  fight,  the  mere  blaze  of  his  eyes  often  won 
him  victory  before  a  blow  was  struck.  To  Don,  Ran- 
ald opened  his  heart  more  than  to  any  one  else;  all 
others  he  kept  at  a  distance. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Murray,  in  her  daily  visits 
to  Macdonald  Dubh,  sought  to  find  out  Ranald  and  to 
come  to  speech  with  him.  Aunt  Kirsty  never  knew 
where  he  was,  and  to  her  calls,  long  and  loud,  from 
the  back  door  and  from  the  front,  no  response  ever 
came.  It  was  Hughie  Murray  who  finally  brought 
Ranald  once  more  into  touch  with  the  minister's  wife. 

They  had  come  one  early  morning,  Hughie  with 
Fido  "hitched"  in  a  sled  driving  over  the  "crust"  on 
the  snow  banks  by  the  roadside,  and  his  mother  on  the 
pony,  to  make  their  call  upon  the  sick  man.  As  they 
drew  near  the  house  they  heard  a  sound  of  hammering. 

"That's  Ranald,  mother!"  exclaimed  Hughie. 
"Let  me  go  and  find  him.  I  don't  want  to  go  in." 

75 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Be  sure  you  don't  go  far  away,  then,  Hughie; 
you  know  we  must  hurry  home  to-day"  ;  and  Hughie 
faithfully  promised.  But  alas  for  Hughie' s  prom- 
ises! when  his  mother  came  out  of  the  house  with 
Kirsty,  he  was  within  neither  sight  nor  hearing. 

"They  will  just  be  at  the  camp,"  said  Kirsty. 

"The  camp?" 

"Aye,  the  sugaring  camp  down  yonder  in  the 
sugar  bush.  It  is  not  far  off  from  the  wood  road.  I 
will  be  going  with  you." 

"Not  at  all,  Kirsty,"  said  the  minister's  wife.  "I 
think  I  know  where  it  is,  and  I  can  go  home  that  way 
quite  well.  Besides,  I  want  to  see  Ranald."  She 
did  not  say  she  would  rather  see  him  alone. 

"Indeed,  he  is  the  quare  lad,  and  he  is  worse  since 
coming  back  from  the  shanties."  Kirsty  was  evi- 
dently much  worried  about  Ranald. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  kindly; 
"we  must  just  be  patient.  Ranald  is  going  on  fast 
toward  manhood,  and  he  can  be  held  only  by  the 
heart. ' ' 

"Aye,"  said  Kirsty,  with  a  sigh,  "I  doubt  his 
father  will  never  be  able  any  more  to  take  a  strap  to 
him." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  smiling,  "I'm  afraid  he 
is  far  beyond  that." 

"Beyond  it!"  exclaimed  Kirsty,  astonished  at  such 
a  doctrine.  "Indeed,  and  his  father  and  his  uncle 
would  be  getting  it  then,  when  they  were  as  beeg  as 
they  will  ever  be,  and  much  the  better  were  they  for 
it." 

76 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

"I  don't  think  it  would  do  for  Ranald,"  said  the 
minister's  wife,  smiling  again  as  she  said  good  by  to 
Kirsty.  Then  she  took  her  way  down  the  wood  road 
into  the  bush.  She  found  the  camp  road  easily,  and 
after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  ride,  she  heard  the  sound 
of  an  ax,  and  soon  came  upon  the  sugar  camp.  Ran- 
ald was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a  little  shanty 
of  cedar  poles  and  interwoven  balsam  brush,  and 
Hughie  was  looking  on  in  admiration  and  blissful 
delight. 

"Why,  that's  beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  Murray;  "I 
should  like  to  live  in  a  house  like  that  myself." 

"Oh,  mother !"shouted  Hughie,  "isn't  it  splendid? 
Ranald  and  Don  are  going  to  live  in  it  all  the  sugar- 
ing time,  and  Ranald  wants  me  to  come,  too.  Mayn't 
I,  mother?  Aw,  do  let  me." 

The  mother  looked  down  upon  the  eager  face, 
smiled,  and  shook  her  head.  "What  about  the  night, 
Hughie?"  she  said.  "It  will  be  very  dark  in  the 
woods  here,  and  very  cold,  too.  Ranald  and  Don  are 
big  boys  and  strong,  but  I'm  afraid  my  little  boy 
would  not  be  very  comfortable  sleeping  outside." 

"Oh,  mother,  we'll  be  inside,  and  it'll  be  awful 
warm — and  oh,  you  might  let  me!"  Hughie's  tears 
were  restrained  only  by  the  shame  of  weeping  before 
his  hero,  Ranald. 

"Well,  we  will  see  what  your  father  says  when  he 
comes  home." 

"Oh,  mother,  he  will  just  say  'no'  right  off,  and — " 

A  shadow  crossed  his  mother's  face,  'but  she  only 
answered  quietly,  "Never  mind  just  now,  Hughie; 

77 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

we  will  think  of  it.  Besides,"  she  added,  "I  don't 
know  how  much  Ranald  wants  to  be  bothered  with  a 
wee  boy  like  you." 

Ranald  gave  her  a  quick,  shy  glance  and  answered : 
"He  will  be  no  trouble,  Mrs.  Murray";  and  then, 
noticing  Hughie's  imploring  face,  he  ventured  to  add, 
"and  indeed,  I  hope  you  will  let  him  come.  I  will 
take  good  care  of  him." 

Mrs.  Murray  hesitated. 

"Oh,  mother!"  cried  Hughie,  seeing  her  hesitation, 
"just  one  night;  I  won't  be  a  bit  afraid." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  you  would,"  looking  down 
into  the  brave  young  face.  "But  what  about  your 
mother,  Hughie?" 

"Oh,  pshaw!  you  wouldn't  be  afraid."  Hughie's 
confidence  in  his  mother's  courage  was  unbounded. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  replied;  and  then 
turning  to  Ranald,  "How  about  our  friends  of  the 
other  night?"  she  said.  "Will  they  not  be  about?" 
Hughie  had  not  heard  about  the  wolves. 

"Oh,  there  is  no  fear  of  them.  We  will  keep  a 
big  fire  all  night,  and  besides,  we  will  have  our  guns 
and  the  dogs." 

"Guns!"  cried  Mrs.  Murray.  This  was  a  new  ter- 
ror for  her  boy.  "I'm  afraid  I  cannot  trust  Hughie 
where  there  are  guns.  He  might — " 

"Indeed,  let  me  catch  him  touching  a  gun!"  said 
Ranald,  quickly,  and  from  his  tone  and  the  look  in 
his  face,  Mrs.  Murray  felt  sure  that  Hughie  would  be 
safe  from  self-destruction  by  the  guns. 

"Well,  well,  come  away,  Hughie,  and  we  will  see," 
78 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

said  Mrs.  Murray;  but  Hughie  hung  back  sulking, 
unwilling  to  move  till  he  had  got  his  mother's  prom- 
ise. 

"Come,  Hughie.  Get  Fido  ready.  We  must 
hurry,"  said  his  mother  again. 

Still  Hughie  hesitated.  Then  Ranald  turned 
swiftly  on  him.  "Did  ye  hear  your  mother?  Come, 
get  out  of  this."  His  manner  was  so  fierce  that 
Hughie  started  immediately  for  his  dog,  and  without 
another  word  of  entreaty  made  ready  to  go.  The 
mother  noted  his  quick  obedience,  and  smiling  at 
Ranald,  said:  "I  think  I  might  trust  him  with  you  for 
a  night  or  two,  Ranald.  When  do  you  think  you 
could  come  for  him?" 

"We  will  finish  the  tapping  to-morrow,  and  I  could 
come  the  day  after  with  the  jumper,"  said  Ranald, 
pointing  to  the  stout,  home-made  sleigh  used  for 
gathering  the  sap  and  the  wood  for  the  fire. 

' '  Oh,  I  see  you  have  begun  tapping, ' '  said  Mrs. 
Murray;  "and  do  you  do  it  yourself?" 

"Why,  yes,  mother;  don't  you  see  all  those  trees?" 
cried  Hughie,  pointing  to  a  number  of  maples  that 
stood  behind  the  shanty.  "Ranald  and  Don  did  all 
those,  and  made  the  spiles,  too.  See!"  He  caught 
up  a  spile  from  a  heap  lying  near  the  door.  "Ranald 
made  all  these." 

"Why,  that's  fine,  Ranald.  How  do  you  make 
them?  I  have  never  seen  one  made." 

"Oh,  mother!"  Hughie's  voice  was  full  of  pity 
for  her  ignorance.  He  had  seen  his  first  that  after- 
noon. 

79 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"And  I  have  never  seen  the  tapping  of  a  tree.  I 
believe  I  shall  learn  just  now,  if  Ranald  will  only  show 
me,  from  the  very  beginning." 

Her  eager  interest  in  his  work  won  Ranald  from 
his  reserve.  "There  is  not  much  to  see,"  he  said, 
apologetically.  "You  just  cut  a  natch  in  the  tree, 
and  drive  in  the  spile,  and — " 

"Oh,  but  wait,"  she  cried.  "That's  just  what  I 
wanted  to  see.  How  do  you  make  the  spile?" 

"Oh,  that  is  easy,"  said  Ranald.  He  took  up  a 
slightly  concave  chisel  or  gouge,  and  slit  a  slim  slab 
from  off  a  block  of  cedar  about  a  foot  long. 

"This  is  a  spile,"  he  exclaimed.  "We  drive 
it  into  the  tree,  and  the  sap  runs  down  into  the 
trough,  you  see." 

"No,  I  don't  see,"  said  the  minister's  wife.  She 
was  too  thoroughgoing  to  do  things  by  halves. 
"How  do  you  drive  this  into  the  tree,  and  how  do 
you  get  the  sap  to  run  down  it?" 

"I  will  show  you,"  he  said,  and  taking  with  him 
a  gouge  and  ax,  he  approached  a  maple  still  un- 
tapped. "You  first  make  a  gash  like  this."  So 
saying,  with  two  or  three  blows  of  his  ax,  he  made  a 
slanting  gouge  in  the  tree.  "And  then  you  make 
a  place  for  the  spile  this  way."  With  the  back  of 
his  ax  he  drove  his  gouge  into  the  corner  of  the 
notch,  and  then  fitted  his  spile  into  the  incision  so 
made. 

"Ah,  now  I  see.  And  you  put  the  trough 
under  the  drip  from  the  spile.  But  how  do  you  make 
the  troughs?" 

80 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

"I  did  not  make  them,"  said  Ranald.  "Some  of 
them  father  made,  and  some  of  them  belong  to  the 
Camerons.  But  it  is  easy  enough.  You  just  take  a 
thick  slab  of  basswood  and  hollow  it  out  with  the 
adze." 

Mrs.  Murray  was  greatly  pleased.  "I'm  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  Ranald,"  she  said,  "and  I  am  glad  I 
came  down  to  see  your  camp.  Now,  if  you  will  ask 
me,  I  should  like  to  see  you  make  the  sugar."  Had 
her  request  been  made  before  the  night  of  their 
famous  ride,  Ranald  would  have  found  some  polite 
reason  for  refusal,  but  now  he  was  rather  surprised  to 
find  himself  urging  her  to  come  to  a  sugaring-off  at 
the  close  of  the  season. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  come,"  cried  Mrs.  Murray, 
"and  it  is  very  good  of  you  to  ask  me,  and  I  shall 
bring  my  niece,  who  is  coming  with  Mr.  Murray  from 
town  to  spend  some  weeks  with  me." 

Ranald's  face  fell,  but  his  Highland  courtesy  for- 
bade retreat.  "If  she  would  care,"  he  said,  doubt- 
fully. 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  she  would  be  very  glad!  She  has 
never  been  outside  of  the  city,  and  I  want  her  to 
learn  all  she  can  of  the  country  and  the  woods.  It  is 
positively  painful  to  see  the  ignorance  of  these  city 
children  in  regard  to  all  living  things — beasts  and  birds 
and  plants.  Why,  many  of  them  couldn't  tell  a  beech 
from  a  basswood." 

"Oh,  mother!"  protested  Hughie,  aghast  at  such 
ignorance. 

"Yes,  indeed,  it  is  dreadful,  I  assure  you,"  said 
Si 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

his  mother,  smiling.  "Why,  I  know  a  grown-up 
woman  who  didn't  know  till  after  she  was  married  the 
difference  between  a  spruce  and  a  pine." 

"But  you  know  them  all  now,"  said  Hughie,  a 
little  anxious  for  his  mother's  reputation. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  his  mother,  proudly;  "every 
one,  I  think,  at  least  when  the  leaves  are  out.  So  I 
want  Maimie  to  learn  all  she  can." 

Ranald  did  not  like  the  idea  any  too  well,  but  after 
they  had  gone  his  thoughts  kept  turning  to  the  pro- 
posed visit  of  Mrs.  Murray  and  her  niece. 

"Maimie,"  said  Ranald  to  himself.  "So  that  is 
her  name."  It  had  a  musical  sound,  and  was  differ- 
ent from  the  names  of  the  girls  he  knew — Betsy  and 
Kirsty  and  Jessie  and  Marget  and  Jinny.  It  was 
finer  somehow  than  these,  and  seemed  to  suit  better 
a  city  girl.  He  wondered  if  she  would  be  nice,  but 
he  decided  that  doubtless  she  would  be  "proud."  To 
be  "proud"  was  the  unpardonable  sin  with  the  Glen- 
garry boy.  The  boy  or  girl  convicted  of  this  crime 
earned  the  contempt  of  all  self-respecting  people. 
On  the  whole,  Ranald  was  sorry  she  was  coming. 
Even  in  school  he  was  shy  with  the  girls,  and  kept 
away  from  them.  They  were  always  giggling  and 
blushing  and  making  one  feel  queer,  and  they  never 
meant  what  they  said.  He  had  no  doubt  Maimie 
would  be  like  the  rest,  and  perhaps  a  little  worse.  Of 
course,  being  Mrs.  Murray's  niece,  she  might  be 
something  like  her.  Still,  that  could  hardly  be.  No 
girl  could  ever  be  like  the  minister's  wife.  He  resolved 
he  would  turn  Maimie  over  to  Don.  He  remembered, 

82 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

with  great  relief,  that  Don  did  not  mind  girls;  indeed, 
he  suspected  Don  rather  enjoyed  playing  the  "forfeit" 
games  at  school  with  them,  in  which  the  penalties 
were  paid  in  kisses.  How  often  had  he  shuddered 
and  admired  from  a  distance,  while  Don  and  the  others 
played  those  daring  games!  Yes,  Don  would  do  the 
honors  for  Maimie.  Perhaps  Don  would  even  venture 
to  play  ' '  forfeits' '  with  her.  Ranald  felt  his  face  grow 
hot  at  this  thought.  Then,  with  sudden  self-detec- 
tion, he  cried,  angrily,  aloud:  "I  don't  care;  let  him; 
he  may  for  all  I  care." 

"Who  may  what?"  cried  a  voice  behind  him.  It 
was  Don  himself. 

"Nothing,"  said  Ranald,  blushing  shamefacedly. 

"Why,  what  are  you  mad  about?"  asked  Don, 
noticing  his  flushed  face. 

"Who  is  mad?"  said  Ranald.  "I  am  not  mad 
whatever. 

"Well,  you  look  mighty  like  it,"  said  Don.  "You 
look  mad  enough  to  fight." 

But  Ranald,  ignoring  him,  simply  said,  "We  will 
need  to  be  gathering  the  sap  this  evening,  for  the 
troughs  will  be  full." 

"Huh-huh,"  said  Don.  "I  guess  we  can  carry 
all  there  is  to-day,  but  we  will  have  to  get  the  colt 
to-morrow.  Got  the  spiles  ready?" 

"Enough  for  to-day,"  said  Ranald,  wondering  how 
he  could  tell  Don  of  the  proposed  visit  of  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray and  her  niece.  Taking  each  a  bundle  of  spiles 
and  an  ax,  the  boys  set  out  for  the  part  of  the  sugar 
bush  as  yet  untapped,  and  began  their  work. 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

"The  minister's  wife  and  Hughie  were  here  just 
now,"  began  Ranald. 

"Huh-huh,  I  met  them  down  the  road.  Hughie 
said  he  was  coming  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Did  Mrs.  Murray  tell  you — " 

"Tell  me  what?" 

"Did  she  tell  you  she  would  like  to  see  a  sugaring- 
off?" 

"No;  they  didn't  stop  long  enough  to  tell  me 
anything.  Hughie  shouted  at  me  as  they  passed." 

"Well,"  said  Ranald,  speaking  slowly  and  with 
difficulty,  "she  wanted  bad  to  see  the  sugar-making, 
and  I  asked  her  to  come." 

"You  did,  eh?     I  wonder  at  you." 

"And  she  wanted  to  bring  her  niece,  and — and — I 
let  her,"  said  Ranald. 

"Her  niece!    Jee-roo-sa-/<?#z/"  cried  Don.     Do  you 
know  who  her  niece  is?" 

"Not  I,"  said  Ranald,  looking  rather  alarmed. 

"Well,  she  is  the  daughter  of  the  big  lumberman, 
St.  Clair,  and  she  is  a  great  swell." 

Ranald  stood  speechless. 

"That  does  beat  all,"  pursued  Don;  "and  you 
asked  her  to  our  camp  ?' ' 

Then  Ranald  grew  angry.  "And  why  not?"  he 
said,  defiantly.  "What  is  wrong  about  that?" 

"O,  nothing  much,"  laughed  Don,  "if  I  had  done 
it,  but  for  you,  Ranald!  Why,  what  will  you  do 
with  that  swell  young  lady  from  the  city?" 

"I  will  just  do  nothing,"  said  Ranald.  "There 
will  be  you  and  Mrs.  Murray,  and — " 

84 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

"Oh,  I  say,"  burst  in  Don,  "that's  bully!  Let's 
ask  some  of  the  boys,  and — your  aunt,  and — my 
mother,  and — some  of  the  girls." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  said  Ranald,  angrily.  "You  just 
want  Marget  Aird." 

"You  get  out!"  cried  Don,  indignantly;  "Marget 
Aird!"  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added,  "All  right,  I 
don't  want  anybody  else.  I'll  look  after  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, and  you  and  Maimie  can  do  what  you  like." 

This  combination  sounded  so  terrible  to  Ranald 
that  he  surrendered  at  once;  and  it  was  arranged  that 
there  should  be  a  grand  sugaring-off,  and  that  others 
besides  the  minister's  wife  and  her  niece  should  be 
invited. 

But  Mrs.  Murray  had  noticed  the  falling  of  Ran- 
ald's face  at  the  mention  of  Maimie's  visit  to  the  camp, 
and  feeling  that  she  had  taken  him  at  a  disadvantage, 
she  determined  that  she  would  the  very  next  day  put 
herself  right  with  him.  She  was  eager  to  follow  up 
the  advantage  she  had  gained  the  day  before  in  estab- 
lishing terms  of  friendship  with  Ranald,  for  her  heart 
went  out  to  the  boy,  in  whose  deep,  passionate  nature 
she  saw  vast  possibilities  for  good  or  ill.  On  her 
return  from  her  daily  visit  to  Macdonald  Dubh,  she 
took  the  camp  road,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  find 
Ranald  alone,  "rigging  up"  his  kettles  preparatory  to 
the  boiling.  But  she  had  no  time  for  kettles  to-day, 
and  she  went  straight  to  her  business. 

"I  came  to  see  you,  Ranald,"  she  said,  after  she 
had  shaken  hands  with  him,  "about  our  sugaring-off. 
I've  been  thinking  that  it  would  perhaps  be  better  to 

85 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

have  no  strangers,  but  just  old  friends,  you  and  Don 
and  Hughie  and  me." 

Ranald  at  once  caught  her  meaning,  but  found 
himself  strangely  unwilling  to  be  extricated  from  his 
predicament. 

"I  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  frankly,  "we  might 
enjoy  it  better  without  my  niece;  and  so,  perhaps, 
we  could  have  the  sugaring  when  I  come  to  bring 
Hughie  home  on  Friday.  Maimie  does  not  come  till 
Saturday." 

Her  frankness  disarmed  Ranald  of  his  reserve.  "I 
know  well  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  without  his  usual 
awkwardness,  "but  I  do  not  mind  now  at  all  having 
your  niece  come;  and  Don  is  going  to  have  a  party." 
The  quiet,  grave  tone  was  that  of  a  man,  and  Mrs. 
Murray  looked  at  the  boy  with  new  eyes.  She  did 
not  know  that  it  was  her  own  frank  confidence  that 
had  won  like  confidence  from  him. 

"How  old  are  you,  Ranald?"  she  said,  in  her  won- 
der. 

"I  will  be  going  on  eighteen." 

"You  will  soon  be  a  man,  Ranald."  Ranald  re- 
mained silent,  and  she  went  on  earnestly:  "A  strong, 
good,  brave  man,  Ranald." 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  boy's  face  with  a  sudden 
flood,  but  still  he  stood  silent. 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  Hughie  for  two  days,"  she 
continued,  in  the  same  earnest  voice ;  and  leaning  down 
over  her  pony's  neck  toward  him:  "I  want  him  to 
know  strong  and  manly  boys.  He  is  very  fond  of 
you,  Ranald.  He  thinks  you  are  better  than  any  man 

86 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

in  the  world."  She  paused,  her  lips  parting  in  a 
smile  that  made  Ranald's  heart  beat  quick.  Then  she 
went  on  with  a  shy  hesitancy:  "Ranald,  I  know  the 
boys  sometimes  drop  words  they  should  not  and  tell 
stories  unfit  to  hear' ' ;  the  blood  was  beginning  to 
show  in  her  cheek;  "and  I  would  not  like  my  little 
boy — "  Her  voice  broke  suddenly,  but  recovering 
quickly  she  went  on  in  grave,  sweet  tones:  "I  trust 
him  to  you,  Ranald,  for  this  time  and  afterward.  He 
looks  up  to  you.  I  want  him  to  be  a  good,  brave 
man,  and  to  keep  his  heart  pure."  Ranald  could  not 
speak,  but  he  looked  steadily  into  Mrs.  Murray's  eyes 
as  he  took  the  hand  she  offered,  and  she  knew  he  was 
pledging  himself  to  her. 

"You'll  come  for  him  to-morrow,"  she  said,  as  she 
turned  away.  By  this  time  Ranald  had  found  his  voice. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  replied.  "And  I  will  take 
good  care  of  him." 

Once  more  Mrs.  Murray  found  herself  looking  at 
Ranald  as  if  seeing  him  for  the  first  time.  He  had 
the  solemn  voice  and  manner  of  a  man  making  oath 
of  allegiance,  and  she  rode  away  with  her  heart  at  rest 
concerning  her  little  boy.  With  Ranald,  at  least,  he 

would  be  safe. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Those  two  days  had  been  for  Hughie  long  and 
weary,  but  at  last  the  great  day  came  for  him,  as  all 
great  days  will  come  for  those  who  can  wait.  Ranald 
appeared  at  the  manse  before  the  breakfast  was  well 
begun,  and  Hughie,  with  the  unconscious  egoism  of 
childhood,  was  for  rushing  off  without  thought  of 

87 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

preparation  for  himself  or  of  farewell  for  those  left 
behind.  Indeed,  he  was  for  leaving  his  porridge 
untasted,  declaring  he  "wasn't  a  bit  hungry,"  but 
his  mother  brought  him  to  his  senses. 

"No  breakfast,  no  sugar  bush  to-day,  Hughie," 
she  said;  "we  cannot  send  men  out  to  the  woods  that 
cannot  eat  breakfast,  can  we,  Ranald?" 

Hughie  at  once  fell  upon  his  porridge  with  vigor, 
while  Ranald,  who  was  much  too  shy  to  eat  at  the 
minister's  table,  sat  and  waited. 

After  breakfast  was  over,  Jessie  was  called  in  for 
the  morning  worship,  without  which  no  day  was  ever 
begun  in  the  manse.  At  worship  in  the  minister's 
house  every  one  present  took  part.  It  was  Hughie's 
special  joy  to  lead  the  singing  of  the  psalm.  His 
voice  rose  high  and  clear,  even  above  his  mother's, 
for  he  loved  to  sing,  and  Ranald's  presence  inspired 
him  to  do  his  best.  Ranald  had  often  heard  the  psalm 
sung  in  the  church — 

I  to  the  hills  will  lift  mine  eyes, 
From  whence  doth  come  mine  aid; 

and  the  tune  was  the  old,  familiar  "French,"  but 
somehow  it  was  all  new  to  him  that  day.  The  fresh 
voices  and  the  crisp,  prompt  movement  of  the  tune 
made  Ranald  feel  as  if  he  had  never  heard  the  psalm 
sung  before.  In  the  reading  he  took  his  verse  with 
the  others,  stumbling  a  little,  not  because  the  words 
were  too  big  for  him,  but  because  they  seemed  to  run 
into  one  another.  The  chapter  for  the  day  contained 
Paul's  injunction  to  Timothy,  urging  him  to  fidelity 
and  courage  as  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ. 

88 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

When  the  reading  was  done,  Mrs.  Murray  told  them 
a  story  of  a  young  man  who  had  shed  his  blood  upon 
a  Scottish  moor  because  he  was  too  brave  to  be  untrue 
to  his  lord,  and  then,  in  a  few  words,  made  them  all 
see  that  still  some  conflict  was  being  waged,  and  that 
there  was  still  opportunity  for  each  to  display  loyal 
courage  and  fidelity. 

In  the  prayer  that  followed,  the  first  thing  that 
surprised  Ranald  was  the  absence  of  the  set  forms  and 
tones  of  prayer,  with  which  he  was  familiar.  It  was 
all  so  simple  and  real.  The  mother  was  telling  the 
great  Father  in  heaven  her  cares  and  anxieties,  and 
the  day's  needs  for  them  all,  sure  that  he  would  un- 
derstand and  answer.  Every  one  was  remembered — 
the  absent  head  of  the  family  and  those  present ;  the 
young  man  worshiping  with  them,  that  he  might  be 
a  true  man  and  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ;  and 
at  the  close,  the  little  lad  going  away  this  morning, 
that  he  might  be  kept  from  all  harm  and  from  all  evil 
thoughts  and  deeds.  The  simple  beauty  of  the  words, 
the  music  in  the  voice,  and  the  tender,  trustful  feeling 
that  breathed  through  the  prayer  awakened  in  Ranald's 
heart  emotions  and  longings  he  had  never  known 
before,  and  he  rose  from  his  knees  feeling  how  wicked 
and  how  cruel  a  thing  it  would  be  to  cause  one  of  these 
little  ones  to  stumble. 

After  the  worship  was  over,  Hughie  seized  his 
Scotch  bonnet  and  rushed  for  the  jumper,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  his  mother  had  all  the  space  not  taken 
up  by  him  and  Ranald  packed  with  blankets  and 
baskets. 

89 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Jessie  thinks  that  even  great  shanty-men  like  you 
and  Don  and  Hughie  will  not  object  to  something 
better  than  bread  and  pork. ' ' 

"Indeed,  we  will  not,"  said  Ranald,  heartily. 

Then  Hughie  suddenly  remembered  that  he  was 
actually  leaving  home,  and  climbing  out  of  the  jumper, 
he  rushed  at  his  mother. 

"Oh,  mother,  good  by!"  he  cried. 

His  mother  stooped  and  put  her  arms  about  him. 
"Good  by,  my  darling,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "I 
trust  you  to  be  a  good  boy,  and,  Hughie,  don't  for- 
get your  prayers." 

Then  came  to  Hughie,  for  the  first  time,  the 
thought  that  had  been  in  the  mother's  heart  all  the 
morning,  that  when  night  came  he  would  lie  down 
to  sleep,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  without  the 
nightly  story  and  her  good-night  kiss. 

"Mother,"  whispered  the  little  lad,  holding  her 
tight  about  the  neck,  "won't  you  come,  too?  I  don't 
think  I  like  to  go  away." 

He  could  have  said  no  more  comforting  word,  and 
the  mother,  whose  heart  had  been  sore  enough  with 
her  first  parting  from  her  boy,  was  more  than  glad  to 
find  that  the  pain  was  not  all  on  her  side;  so  she 
kissed  him  again,  and  said,  in  a  cheery  voice:  "Now 
have  a  good  time.  Don't  trouble  Ranald  too  much, 
and  bring  me  back  some  sugar."  Her  last  word 
braced  the  lad  as  nothing  else  could. 

"Oh,  mother,  I'll  bring  you  heaps!"  he  cried,  and 
with  the  vision  of  what  he  would  bring  home  again 
shining  vividly  before  his  eyes,  he  got  through  the 

90 


A  NEW  FRIEND 

parting  without  tears,  and  was  soon  speeding  down 
the  lane  beside  Ranald,  in  the  jumper. 

The  mother  stood  and  watched  the  little  figure 
holding  tight  to  Ranald  with  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  waving  frantically  his  bonnet  by  the  tails,  till  at 
last  the  bush  hid  him  from  her  sight.  Then  she  turned 
back  again  to  the  house  that  seemed  so  empty,  with 
her  hand  pressed  hard  against  her  side  and  her  lip 
quivering  as  with  sharp  pain. 

"How  foolish!"  she  said,  impatiently  to  herself; 
"he  will  be  home  in  two  days."  But  in  spite  of  her- 
self she  went  again  to  the  door,  and  looked  long  at  the 
spot  where  the  bush  swallowed  up  the  road.  Then 
she  went  upstairs  and  shut  her  door,  and  when  she 
came  down  again  there  was  that  in  her  face  that  told 
that  her  heart  had  had  its  first  touch  of  the  sword 
that,  sooner  or  later,  must  pierce  all  mothers'  hearts. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MAIMIE 

Before  Hughie  came  back  from  the  sugar  camp, 
the  minister  had  returned  from  the  presbytery,  bring- 
ing with  him  his  wife's  niece,  Maimie  St.  Clair,  who 
had  come  from  her  home  in  a  Western  city  to  meet 
him.  Her  father,  Eugene  St.  Clair,  was  president 
of  Raymond  and  St.  Clair  Lumber  Company.  Nine- 
teen years  before  this  time  he  had  married  Mrs. 
Murray's  eldest  sister,  and  established  his  home  with 
every  prospect  of  a  prosperous  and  happy  life,  but 
after  three  short,  bright  years  of  almost  perfect  joy,  his 
young  wife,  his  heart's  idol,  after  two  days'  illness, 
fluttered  out  from  her  beautiful  home,  leaving  with 
her  broken-hearted  husband  her  little  boy  and  a  baby 
girl  two  weeks  old.  Then  Eugene  St.  Clair  besought 
his  sister  to  come  out  from  England  and  preside  over 
his  home  and  care  for  his  children ;  and  that  he  might 
forget  his  grief,  he  gave  himself,  heart  and  mind,  to 
his  business.  Wealth  dame  to  him,  and  under  his 
sister's  rule  his  home  became  a  place  of  cultured  ele- 
gance and  a  center  of  fashionable  pleasure. 

Miss  Frances  St.  Clair  was  a  woman  of  the  world, 
proud  of  her  family-tree,  whose  root  disappeared  in 
the  depths  of  past  centuries,  and  devoted  to  the  pur- 
suit and  cultivation  of  those  graces  and  manners  that 
are  supposed  to  distinguish  people  of  birth  and  breed- 

92 


M  A  I  M  I  E 

ing  from  the  common  sort.  Indeed,  from  common 
men  and  things  she  shrank  almost  with  horror.  The 
entrance  of  "trade"  into  the  social  sphere  of  her  life 
she  would  regard  as  an  impertinent  intrusion.  It  was 
as  much  as  she  could  bear  to  allow  the  approach  of 
"commerce,"  which  her  brother  represented.  She 
supposed,  of  course,  there  must  be  people  to  carry  on 
the  trades  and  industries  of  the  country — very  worthy 
people,  too — but  these  were  people  one  could  not  be 
expected  to  know.  Miss  St.  Clair  thanked  heaven 
that  she  had  had  the  advantages  of  an  English  educa- 
tion and  up-bringing,  and  she  lamented  the  stubborn 
democratic  opinions  of  her  brother,  who  insisted  that 
Harry  should  attend  the  public  school.  She  was  not 
surprised,  therefore,  though  greatly  grieved,  that  Harry 
chose  his  friends  in  school  with  a  fine  disregard  of 
"their  people."  It  was  with  surprise  amounting  to 
pain  that  she  found  herself  one  day  introduced  by  her 
nephew  to  Billie  Barclay,  who  turned  out  to  be  the 
son  of  Harry's  favorite  confectioner.  To  his  aunt's 
remonstrance  it  seemed  to  Harry  a  sufficient  reply 
that  Billy  was  a  "brick"  and  a  shining  "quarter"  on 
the  school  Rugby  team. 

"But,  Harry,  think  of  his  people!"  urged  his  aunt. 

"Oh,  rot!"  replied  her  irreverent  nephew;  "I 
don't  play  with  his  people." 

"Yes,  but  Harry,  you  don't  expect  to  make  him 
your  friend?" 

"But  he  is  my  friend,  and  I  don't  care  what  his 
people  are.  Besides,  I  think  his  governor  is  a  fine 
old  boy,  and  I  know  he  gives  us  jolly  good  taffy." 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"But,  Harry,"  answered  his  aunt,  in  despair,  "you 
are  positively  dreadful.  Why  can't  you  make  friends 
in  your  own  set?  There  is  Hubert  Evans  and  the 
Langford  boys." 

"Evans!"  snorted  Harry,  with  contempt;  "beastly 
snob,  and  the  Langfords  are  regular  Mollies!"  Where- 
upon Miss  St.  Clair  gave  up  her  nephew  as  impossible. 
But  Billie  did  not  repeat  his  visit  to  his  friend  Harry's 
home.  Miss  Frances  St.  Clair  had  a  way  of  looking 
through  her  pince-nez  that  even  a  boy  could  understand 
and  would  seek  to  avoid. 

With  Maimie,  Miss  St.  Clair  achieved  better  results. 
She  was  a  gentle  girl,  with  an  affectionate,  yielding 
disposition,  tending  towards  indolence  and  self-indul- 
gence. Her  aunt's  chief  concern  about  her  was  that 
she  should  be  frocked  and  mannered  as  became  her 
position.  Her  education  was  committed  to  a  very 
select  young  ladies'  school,  where  only  the  daughters 
of  the  first  families  ever  entered.  What  or  how  they 
were  taught,  her  aunt  never  inquired.  She  felt  quite 
sure  that  the  lady  principal  would  resent,  as  indeed 
she  ought,  any  such  inquiry.  Hence  Maimie  came  to 
have  a  smattering  of  the  English  poets,  could  talk  in 
conversation-book  French,  and  could  dash  off  most 
of  the  notes  of  a  few  waltzes  and  marches  from  the 
best  composers,  her  ptice  de  resistance,  however,  being 
"La  Priere  (Tune  Vierge."  She  carried  with  her  from 
school  a  portfolio  of  crayons  of  apparently  very  ancient 
and  very  battered  castles;  and  water-colors  of  land- 
scapes, where  the  water  was  quite  as  solid  as  the  land. 
True,  she  was  quite  unable  to  keep  her  own  small 

94 


M  A  I  M  I  E 

accounts,  and  when  her  father  chanced  to  ask  her  one 
day  to  do  for  him  a  simple  addition,  he  was  amazed  to 
find  that  only  after  the  third  attempt  did  she  get  it 
right ;  but,  in  the  eyes  of  her  aunt,  these  were  quite 
unimportant  deficiencies,  and  for  young  ladies  she 
was  not  sure  but  that  the  keeping  of  accounts  and  the 
adding  of  figures  were  almost  vulgar  accomplishments. 
Her  father  thought  otherwise,  but  he  was  a  busy  man, 
and  besides,  he  shrank  from  entering  into  a  region 
strange  to  him,  but  where  his  sister  moved  with 
assured  tread.  He  contented  himself  with  gratifying 
his  daughter's  fancies  and  indulging  her  in  every  way 
allowed  him  by  her  system  of  training  and  education. 
The  main  marvel  in  the  result  was  that  the  girl  did 
not  grow  more  selfish,  superficial,  and  ignorant  than 
she  did.  Something  in  her  blood  helped  her,  but 
more,  it  was  her  aunt's  touch  upon  her  life.  For 
every  week  a  letter  came  from  the  country  manse, 
bringing  with  it  some  of  the  sweet  simplicity  of  the 
country  and  something  like  a  breath  of  heaven. 

She  was  nearing  her  fifteenth  birthday,  and  though 
almost  every  letter  brought  an  invitation  to  visit  the 
manse  in  the  backwoods,  it  was  only  when  the  girl's 
pale  cheek  and  languid  air  awakened  her  father's 
anxiety  that  she  was  allowed  to  accept  the  invitation 
to  spend  some  weeks  in  the  country. 

***** 

When  Ranald  and  Hughie  drove  up  to  the  manse 
on  Saturday  evening  in  the  jumper  the  whole  house- 
hold rushed  forth  to  see  them.  They  were  worth 
seeing.  Burned  black  with  the  sun  and  the  March 

95 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

winds,  they  would  have  easily  passed  for  young 
Indians.  Hughie's  clothes  were  a  melancholy  and 
fluttering  ruin;  and  while  Ranald's  stout  homespun 
smock  and  trousers  had  successfully  defied  the  bush, 
his  dark  face  and  unkempt  hair,  his  rough  dress  and 
heavy  shanty  boots,  made  him  appear,  to  Maimie's 
eyes,  an  uncouth,  if  not  pitiable,  object. 

"Oh,  mother!"  cried  Hughie,  throwing  himself 
upon  her,  "I'm  home  again,  and  we've  had  a  splendid 
time,  and  we  made  heaps  of  sugar,  and  I've  brought 
you  a  whole  lot."  He  drew  out  of  his  pockets  three 
or  four  cakes  of  maple  sugar.  "There  is  one  for 
each,"  he  said,  handing  them  to  his  mother. 

"Here,  Hughie,"  she  replied,  "speak  to  your 
cousin  Maimie. " 

Hughie  went  up  shyly  to  his  cousin  and  offered  a 
grimy  hand.  Maimie,  looking  at  the  ragged  little 
figure,  could  hardly  hide  her  disgust  as  she  took  the 
dirty,  sticky  little  hand  very  gingerly  in  her  fingers. 
But  Hughie  was  determined  to  do  his  duty  to  the 
full,  even  though  Ranald  was  present,  and  shaking 
his  cousin's  hand  with  great  heartiness,  he  held  up  his 
face  to  be  kissed.  He  was  much  surprised,  and  not 
a  little  relieved,  when  Maimie  refused  to  notice  his 
offer  and  turned  to  look  at  Ranald. 

She  found  him  scanning  her  with  a  straight,  search- 
ing look,  as  if  seeking  to  discover  of  what  sort  she 
was.  She  felt  he  had  noticed  her  shrinking  from 
Hughie,  and  was  annoyed  to  find  herself  blushing 
under  his  keen  gaze.  But  when  Mrs.  Murray  pre- 
sented Ranald  to  her  niece,  it  was  his  turn  to  blush 

96 


M  A  I  M  I  E 

and  feel  awkward,  as  he  came  forward  with  a  triangular 
sort  of  movement  and  offered  his  hand,  saying,  with 
an  access  of  his  Highland  accent,  "It  is  a  fine  day, 
ma'am."  It  required  all  Maimie's  good  manners  to 
keep  back  the  laugh  that  fluttered  upon  her  lips. 

Slight  as  it  was,  Ranald  noticed  the  smile,  and 
turning  from  her  abruptly  to  Mrs.  Murray,  said: 
"We  were  thinking  that  Friday  would  be  a  good  day 
for  the  sugaring-off,  if  that  will  do  you." 

"Quite  well,  Ranald,"  said  the  minister's  wife; 
"and  it  is  very  good  of  you  to  have  us." 

She,  too,  had  noted  Maimie's  smile,  and  seeing  the 
dark  flush  on  Ranald's  cheek,  she  knew  well  what  it 
meant. 

"Come  and  sit  down  a  little,  Ranald,"  she  said, 
kindly;  "I  have  got  some  books  here  for  you  and  Don 
to  read." 

But  Ranald  would  not  sit,  nor  would  he  wait  a 
moment.  "Thank  you,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "but  I  will 
need  to  be  going." 

"Wait,  Ranald,  a  moment,"  cried  Mrs.  Murray. 
She  ran  into  the  next  room,  and  in  a  few  moments 
returned  with  two  or  three  books  and  some  magazines. 
"These,"  she  said,  handing  him  the  books,  "are  some 
of  Walter  Scott's.  They  will  be  good  for  week-days ; 
and  these,"  giving  him  the  magazines,  "you  can  read 
after  church  on  Sabbath." 

The  boy's  eyes  lighted  up  as  he  thanked  Mrs. 
Murray,  and  he  shook  hands  with  her  very  warmly. 
Then,  with  a  bow  to  the  company,  and  without  look- 
ing at  Maimie  again,  he  left  the  room,  with  Hughie 

97 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

following  at  his  heels.  In  a  short  time  Hughie  came 
back  full  of  enthusiastic  praise  of  his  hero. 

"Oh,  mother!"  he  cried,  "he  is  awful  smart.  He 
can  just  do  anything.  He  can  make  a  splendid  bed 
of  balsam  brush,  and  porridge,  and  pancakes,  and — 
and — and — everything. ' ' 

"A  bed  of  balsam  brush  and  porridge!  What  a 
wonderful  boy  he  must  be,  Hughie,"  said  Maimie, 
teasing  him.  "But  isn't  he  just  a  little  queer?" 

"He's  not  a  bit  queer,"  said  Hughie,  stoutly. 
"He  is  the  best,  best,  best  boy  in  all  the  world." 

"Indeed!  how  extraordinary!"  said  Maimie;  "you 
wouldn't  think  so  to  look  at  him." 

"I  think  he  is  just  splendid,"  said  Hughie;  "don't 
you,  mother?" 

"Indeed,  he  is  fery  brown  whatever,"  mocked 
Maimie,  mimicking  Ranald's  Highland  tongue,  a  trick 
at  which  she  was  very  clever,  "and — not  just  fery 
clean." 

"You're  just  a  mean,  mean,  red-headed  snip!" 
cried  Hughie,  in  a  rage,  "and  I  don't  like  you  one 
bit/' 

But  Maimie  was  proud  of  her  golden  hair,  so 
Hughie's  shot  fell  harmless. 

"And  when  will  you  be  going  to  the  sugaring-off, 
Mistress  Murray?"  went  on  Maimie,  mimicking  Ranald 
so  cleverly  that  in  spite  of  herself  Mrs.  Murray 
smiled. 

It  was  his  mother's  smile  that  perfected  Hughie's 
fury.  Without  a  word  of  threat  or  warning,  he  seized 
a  dipper  of  water  and  threw  it  over  Maimie,  soaking 

98 


M  A  I  M  I  E 

her  pretty  ribbons  and  collar,  and  was  promptly  sent 
upstairs  to  repent. 

"Poor  Hughie!"  said  his  mother,  after  he  had 
disappeared;  "Ranald  is  his  hero,  and  he  cannot  bear 
any  criticism  of  him." 

"He  doesn't  look  much  of  a  hero,  auntie,"  said 
Maimie,  drying  her  face  and  curls. 

"Very  few  heroes  do,"  said  her  aunt,  quietly. 
"Ranald  has  noble  qualities,  but  he  has  had  very  few 
advantages." 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  told  her  niece  how  Ranald  had 
put  himself  between  her  and  the  pursuing  wolves. 
Maimie's  blue  eyes  were  wide  with  horror. 

"But,  auntie,"  she  cried,  "why  in  the  world  do 
you  go  to  such  places?" 

"What  places,  Maimie?"  said  the  minister,  who 
had  come  into  the  room. 

"Why,  those  awful  places  where  the  wolves  are." 

"Indeed,  you  may  ask  why,"  said  the  minister, 
gravely.  He  had  heard  the  story  from  his  wife  the 
night  before.  "But  it  would  need  a  man  to  be  on 
guard  day  and  night  to  keep  your  aunt  from  'those 
places.'  ' 

"Yes,  and  your  uncle,  too,"  said  Mrs,  Murray, 
shaking  her  head  at  her  husband.  "You  see,  Maimie, 
we  live  in  'those  places' ;  and  after  all,  they  are  as  safe 
as  any.  We  are  in  good  keeping." 

"And  was  Hughie  out  all  night  with  those  two 
boys  in  those  woods,  auntie?" 

"Oh,  there  was  no  danger.  The  wolves  will  not 
come  near  a  fire,  and  the  boys  have  their  dogs  and 

99 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

guns,"  said  Mrs.  Murray;  "besides,  Ranald  is  to  be 
trusted." 

"Trusted?"  said  the  minister;  "indeed,  I  would 
not  trust  him  too  far.  He  is  just  wild  enough,  like 
his  father  before  him." 

"Oh,  papa,  you  don't  know  Ranald,"  said  his 
wife,  warmly;  "nor  his  father  either,  for  that  matter. 
I  never  did  till  this  last  week.  They  have  kept  aloof 
from  everything,  and  really — " 

"And  whose  fault  is  that?"  interrupted  the  minis- 
ter. "Why  should  they  keep  aloof  from  the  means 
of  grace?  They  are  a  godless  lot,  that's  what  they 
are."  The  minister's  indignation  was  rising. 

"But,  my  dear,"  persisted  Mrs.  Murray,  "I  believe 
if  they  had  a  chance — " 

"Chance!"  exclaimed  the  minister;  "what  more 
chance  do  they  want?  Have  they  not  all  that  other 
people  have?  Macdonald  Dubh  is  rarely  seen  at  the 
services  on  the  Lord's  day,  and  as  for  Ranald,  he 
comes  and  goes  at  his  own  sweet  will." 

"Let  us  hope,"  said  his  wife,  gently,  "they  will 
improve.  I  believe  Ranald  would  come  to  Bible  class 
were  he  not  so  shy. ' ' 

"Shy!"  laughed  the  minister,  scornfully;  "he  is 
not  too  shy  to  stand  up  on  the  table  before  a  hundred 
men  after  a  logging  and  dance  the  Highland  fling,  and 
beautifully  he  does  it,  too,"  he  added. 

"But  for  all  that,"  said  his  wife,  "he  is  very  shy." 

"I  don't  like  shy  people,"  said  Maimie;  "they  are 
so  awkward  and  dreadful  to  do  with." 

"Well/'  said    her  aunt,   quietly,   "I    rather   like 


M  A  I  M  I  E 

people  who  are  not  too  sure  of  themselves,  and  I 
think  all  the  more  of  Ranald  for  his  shyness  and 
modesty." 

"Oh,  Ranald's  modesty  won't  disable  him,"  said 
the  minister.  "For  my  part,  I  think  he  is  a  daring 
young  rascal;  and  indeed,  if  there  is  any  mischief 
going  in  the  countryside  you  may  be  sure  Ranald  is 
not  far  away." 

"Oh,  papa,  I  don't  think  Ranald  is  a  bad  boy," 
said  his  wife,  almost  pleadingly. 

"Bad?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  call  it. 
Who  let  off  the  dam  last  year  so  that  the  saw-mill 
could  not  run  for  a  week?  Who  abused  poor  Duncie 
MacBain  so  that  he  was  carried  home  groaning?" 

"Duncie  MacBain!"  exclaimed  his  wife,  contemp- 
tuously; "great,  big,  soft  lump,  that  he  is.  Why, 
he's  a  man,  as  big  as  ever  he'll  be." 

"Who  broke  the  Little  Church  windows  till  there 
wasn't  a  pane  left?"  pursued  the  minister,  unheeding 
his  wife's  interruption. 

"It  wasn't  Ranald  that  broke  the  church  windows, 
papa,"  piped  Hughie  from  above. 

"How  do  you  know,  sir?  Who  did  it,  then?" 
demanded  his  father. 

"It  wasn't  Ranald,  anyway,"  said  Hughie,  stoutly. 

"Who  was  it,  then?  Tell  me  that,"  said  his  father 
again. 

"Hughie,  go  to  your  room  and  stay  there,  as  I  told 
you,"  said  his  mother,  fearing  an  investigation  into 
the  window-breaking  episode,  of  which  Hughie  had 
made  full  confession  to  her  as  his  own  particular 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

achievement,  in  revenge  for  a  broken  window  in  the 
new  church. 

"I  think,"  continued  Mr.  Murray,  as  if  closing  the 
discussion,  "you'll  find  that  your  Ranald  is  not  the 
modest,  shy,  gentle"  young  man  you  think  him  to  be, 
but  a  particularly  bold  young  rascal." 

"Poor  Ranald,"  sighed  his  wife;  "he  has  no 
mother,  and  his  father  has  just  let  him  grow  up  wild." 

"Aye,  that's  true  enough,"  assented  her  husband, 
passing  into  his  study. 

But  he  could  have  adopted  no  better  means  of 
awakening  Maimie's  interest  in  Ranald  than  by  the 
recital  of  his  various  escapades.  Women  love  good 
men,  but  are  interested  in  men  whose  goodness  is 
more  or  less  impaired.  So  Maimie  was  determined 
that  she  would  know  more  of  Ranald,  and  hence 
took  every  opportunity  of  encouraging  Hughie  to 
sing  the  praises  of  his  hero  and  recount  his  many 
adventures.  She  was  glad,  too,  that  her  aunt  had 
fixed  the  sugaring-off  for  a  time  when  she  could 
be  present.  But  neither  at  church  on  Sunday  nor 
during  the  week  that  followed  did  she  catch  sight  of 
his  face,  and  though  Hughie  came  in  with  excited 
reports  now  and  then  of  having  seen  or  heard  of 
Ranald,  Maimie  had  to  content  herself  with  these ;  and, 
indeed,  were  it  not  that  the  invitation  had  already 
been  given,  and  the  day  fixed  for  her  visit  to  the  camp, 
the  chances  are  that  Maimie's  acquaintance  with  Ran- 
ald would  have  ended  where  it  began,  in  which  case 
both  had  been  saved  many  bitter  days. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SUGARING-OFF 

The  sugar  time  is,  in  many  ways,  the  best  of  all 
the  year.  It  is  the  time  of  crisp  mornings,  when  "the 
crust  bears,"  and  the  boys  go  crunching  over  all  the 
fields  and  through  the  woods;  the  time,  too,  of  sunny 
noons  and  chilly  nights.  Winter  is  still  near,  but  he 
has  lost  most  of  his  grip,  and  all  his  terror.  For 
the  earth  has  heard  the  call  of  spring  from  afar,  and 
knows  that  soon  she  will  be  seen,  dancing  her  shy 
dances,  in  the  sunny  spaces  of  the  leafless  woods. 
Then,  by  and  by,  from  all  the  open  fields  the  snow 
is  driven  back  into  the  fence  corners,  and  lies  there 
in  soiled  and  sullen  heaps.  In  the  woods  it  still  lies 
deep ;  but  there  is  everywhere  the  tinkle  of  running 
water,  and  it  is  not  long  till  the  brown  leaf  carpet 
begins  to  show  in  patches  through  the  white.  Then, 
overhead,  the  buds  begin  to  swell  and  thrill  with  the 
new  life,  and  when  it  is  broad  noon,  all  through  the 
woods  a  thousand  voices  pass  the  glad  word  that 
winter's  day  is  gone  and  that  all  living  things  are 
free.  But  when  night  draws  up  over  the  treetops, 
and  the  shadows  steal  down  the  forest  aisles,  the  jubi- 
lant voices  die  down  and  a  chill  fear  creeps  over  all 
the  gleeful,  swelling  buds  that  they  have  been  too 
sure  and  too  happy;  and  all  the  more  if,  from  the 
northeast,  there  sweeps  down,  as  often  happens,  a 

103 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

stinging  storm  of  sleet  and  snow,  winter's  last  savage 
slap.  But  what  matters  that?  The  very  next  day, 
when  the  bright,  warm  rays  trickle  down  through  the 
interlacing  branches,  bathing  the  buds  and  twigs  and 
limbs  and  trunks  and  flooding  all  the  woods,  the  world 
grows  surer  of  its  new  joy.  And  so,  in  alternating 
hope  and  fear,  the  days  and  nights  go  by,  till  an  even- 
ing falls  when  the  air  is  languid  and  a  soft  rain  comes 
up  from  the  south,  falling  all  night  long  over  the  buds 
and  trees  like  warm,  loving  fingers.  Then  the  buds 
break  for  very  joy,  and  timid  green  things  push  up 
through  the  leaf-mold ;  and  from  the  swamps  the  little 
frogs  begin  to  pipe,  at  first  in  solo,  but  soon  in  exult- 
ant chorus,  till  the  whole  moist  night  is  vocal,  and 
then  every  one  knows  that  the  sugar  time  is  over,  and 
troughs  and  spiles  are  gathered  up,  and  with  sap- 
barrels  and  kettles,  are  stored  in  the  back  shed  for 
another  year. 

But  no  rain  came  before  the  night  fixed  for  the 
sugaring-off.  It  was  a  perfect  sugar  day,  warm, 
bright,  and  still,  following  a  night  of  sharp  frost. 
The  long  sunny  afternoon  was  deepening  into  twilight 
when  the  Camerons  drove  up  to  the  sugar-camp  in 
their  big  sleigh,  bringing  with  them  the  manse  party. 
Ranald  and  Don,  with  Aunt  Kirsty,  were  there  to 
receive  them.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  evenings  of 
the  early  Canadian  spring.  The  bare  woods  were 
filled  with  the  tangled  rays  of  light  from  the  setting 
sun.  Here  and  there  a  hillside  facing  the  east  lay  in 
shadow  that  grew  black  where  the  balsams  and  cedars 
stood  in  clumps.  But  everywhere  else  the  light  fell 

104 


THE        SUGARING-OFF 

sweet  and  silent  about  the  bare  trunks,  rilling  the  long 
avenues  under  the  arching  maple  limbs  with  a  yellow 
haze. 

In  front  of  the  shanty  the  kettles  hung  over  the 
fire  on  a  long  pole  which  stood  in  an  upright  crutch  at 
either  end.  Under  the  big  kettle  the  fire  was  roaring 
high,  for  the  fresh  sap  needed  much  boiling  before  the 
syrup  and  taffy  could  come.  But  under  the  little  ket- 
tle the  fire  burned  low,  for  that  must  not  be  hurried. 

Over  the  fire  and  the  kettles  Ranald  presided, 
black,  grimy,  and  silent,  and  to  Don  fell  the  duty  of 
doing  the  honors  of  the  camp ;  and  right  worthily  did 
he  do  his  part.  He  greeted  his  mother  with  rever- 
ence, cuffed  his  young  brother,  kissed  his  little  sister 
Jennie,  tossing  her  high,  and  welcomed  with  warm 
heartiness  Mrs.  Murray  and  her  niece.  The  Airds 
had  not  yet  come,  but  all  the  rest  were  there.  The 
Finlaysons  and  the  McKerachers,  Dan  Campbell's 
boys,  and  their  sister  Betsy,  whom  every  one  called 
"Betsy  Dan,"  redheaded,  freckled,  and  irrepressible; 
the  McGregors,  and  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  wildest 
youngsters  that  could  be  found  in  all  the  Indian 
Lands.  Depositing  their  baskets  in  the  shanty,  for 
they  had  no  thought  of  fasting,  they  crowded  about 
the  fire. 

"Attention!"  cried  Don,  who  had  a  "gift  of  the 
gab,"  as  his  mother  said.  "Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
the  program  for  this  evening  is  as  follows :  games,  tea, 
and  taffy,  in  the  order  mentioned.  In  the  first,  all 
must  take  part;  in  the  second,  all  may  take  part;  but 
in  the  third,  none  need  take  part." 

105 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

After  the  laughter  and  the  chorus  of  "Ohs"  had 
subsided,  Don  proceeded:  "The  captains  for  the  even- 
ing are  Elizabeth  Campbell,  better  known  as  'Betsy 
Dan,'  and  John  Finlayson,  familiar  to  us  all  as  'John- 
nie the  Widow,'  two  young  people  of  excellent  char- 
acter, and  I  believe,  slightly  known  to  each  other." 

Again  a  shout  went  up  from  the  company,  but 
Betsy  Dan,  who  cared  not  at  all  for  Don's  banter, 
contented  herself  with  pushing  out  her  lower  lip  at 
him  with  scorn,  in  that  indescribable  manner  natural 
to  girls,  but  to  boys  impossible. 

Then  the  choosing  began.  Betsy  Dan,  claiming 
first  choice  by  virtue  of  her  sex,  immediately  called 
out,  "Ranald  Macdonald." 

But  Ranald  shook  his  head.  "I  cannot  leave  the 
fire,"  he  said,  blushing;  "take  Don  there." 

But  Betsy  demurred.  "I  don't  want  Don,"  she 
cried.  "Come  on,  Ranald;  the  fire  will  do  quite 
well."  Betsy,  as  indeed  did  most  of  the  school-girls, 
adored  Ranald  in  her  secret  heart,  though  she  scorned 
to  show  it. 

But  Ranald  still  refused,  till  Don  said,  "It  is  too 
bad,  Betsy,  but  you'll  have  to  take  me." 

"Oh,  come  on,  then!"  laughed  Betsy;  "you  will 
be  better  than  nobody." 

Then  it  was  Johnnie  the  Widow's  choice:  "Maimie 
St.  Clair." 

Maimie  hesitated  and  looked  at  her  aunt,  who  said, 
"Yes,  go,  my  dear,  if  you  would  like." 

Marget  Aird!"  cried  Betsy,  spying  Marget  and  her 
brothers  coming  down  the  road.  "Come  along,  Mar- 

106 


THE       SUGARING-OFF 

get;  you  are  on  my  side — on  Don's  side,  I  mean." 
At  which  poor  Marget,  a  tall,  fair  girl,  with  sweet  face 
and  shy  manner,  blushed  furiously,  but,  after  greeting 
the  minister's  wife  and  the  rest  of  the  older  people, 
she  took  her  place  beside  Don. 

The  choosing  went  on  till  every  one  present  was 
taken,  not  even  Aunt  Kirsty  being  allowed  to  remain 
neutral  in  the  coming  games.  For  an  hour  the  sports 
went  on.  Racing,  jumping,  bear,  London  bridge, 
crack  the  whip,  and  lastly,  forfeits. 

Meantime  Ranald  superintended  the  sap-boiling, 
keeping  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire  from  the 
ladies,  and  answering  in  monosyllables  any  questions 
addressed  to  him.  But  when  it  was  time  to  make  the 
tea,  Mrs.  Cameron  and  Kirsty  insisted  on  taking 
charge  of  this,  and  Mrs.  Murray,  coming  round  to 
Ranald,  said:  "Now,  Ranald,  I  came  to  learn  all 
about  sugar-making,  and  while  the  others  are  making 
tea,  I  want  you  to  teach  me  how  to  make  sugar." 

Ranald  gladly  agreed  to  show  her  all  he  knew.  He 
had  been  feeling  awkward  and  miserable  in  the  noisy 
crowd,  but  especially  in  the  presence  of  Maimie.  He 
had  not  forgotten  the  smile  of  amusement  with  which 
she  had  greeted  him  at  the  manse,  and  his  wounded 
pride  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  pour  upon  her  the 
vials  of  his  contempt.  But  somehow,  in  her  presence, 
contempt  would  not  arise  within  him,  and  he  was 
driven  into  wretched  silence  and  self-abasement.  It 
was,  therefore,  with'peculiar  gratitude  that  he  turned 
to  Mrs.  Murray  as  to  one  who  both  understood  and 
trusted  him. 

107 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"I  thank  you  for  the  books,  Mrs.  Murray,"  he 
began,  in  a  low,  hurried  voice.  "They  are  just  won- 
derful. That  Rob  Roy  and  Ivanhoe,  oh!  they 
are  the  grand  books."  His  face  was  fairly  blazing 
with  enthusiasm.  "I  never  knew  there  were  such 
books  at  all." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  like  them,  Ranald,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  in  tones  of  warm  sympathy,  "and  I  shall  give 
you  as  many  as  you  like. 

"I  cannot  thank  you  enough.  I  have  not  the 
words,"  said  the  boy,  looking  as  if  he  might  fall  down 
at  her  feet.  Mrs.  Murray  was  greatly  touched  both 
by  his  enthusiasm  and  his  gratitude. 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  me,  Ranald,  that 
you  like  them,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "I  want  you 
to  love  good  books  and  good  men  and  noble 
deeds." 

Ranald  stood  listening  in  silence. 

"Then  some  day  you  will  be  a  good  and  great  man 
yourself,"  she  added,  "and  you  will  do  some  noble 
work." 

The  boy  stood  looking  far  away  into  the  woods, 
his  black  eyes  filled  with  a  mysterious  fire.  Suddenly 
he  threw  back  his  head  and  said,  as  if  he  had  forgotten 
Mrs.  Murray's  presence,  "Yes,  some  day  I  will  be  a 
great  man.  I  know  it  well." 

"And  good,"  softly  added  Mrs.  Murray. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  a  moment  as  if  in  a 
dream.  Then,  recalling  himself,  he  answered,  "I 
suppose  that  is  the  best." 

"Yes,  it  is  the  best,  Ranald,"  she  replied.  "No 
108 


THE        SUGARING-OFF 

man  is  great  who  is  not  good.  But  come  now  and 
give  me  my  lesson." 

Ranald  stepped  out  into  the  bush,  and  from  a  tree 
near  by  he  lifted  a  trough  of  sap  and  emptied  it  into 
the  big  kettle. 

"That's  the  first  thing  you  do  with  the  sap,"  he 
said. 

"How?     Carry  every  trough  to  the  kettle?" 

"Oh,  I  see,"  laughed  Ranald.  "You  must  have 
every  step." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  replied,  with  determination. 

"Well,  here  it  is." 

He  seized  a  bucket,  went  to  another  tree,  emptied 
the  sap  from  the  trough  into  the  bucket,  and  thence 
into  the  barrel,  and  from  the  barrel  into  the  big 
kettle. 

"Then  from  the  big  kettle  into  the  little  one,"  he 
said,  catching  up  a  big  dipper  tied  to  a  long  pole,  and 
transferring  the  boiling  sap  as  he  spoke  from  one  kettle 
to  another. 

"But  how  can  you  tell  when  it  is  ready?"  asked 
Mrs.  Murray. 

"Only  by  tasting.  When  it  is  very  sweet  it  must 
go  into  the  little  kettle." 

"And  then?" 

Her  eager  determination  to  know  all  the  details 
delighted  him  beyond  measure. 

"Then  you  must  be  very  careful  indeed,  or  you 
will  lose  all  your  day's  work,  and  your  sugar  besides, 
for  it  is  very  easy  to  burn." 

"But  how  can  you  tell  when  it  is  ready?" 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Oh,  you  must  just  keep  tasting  every  few  minutes 
till  you  think  you  have  the  syrup,  and  then  for  the 
sugar  you  must  just  boil  it  a  little  longer." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  "when  it  is  ready  what 
do  you  do?" 

"Then,"  he  said,  "you  must  quickly  knock  the 
fire  from  under  it,  and  pour  it  into  the  pans,  stirring 
it  till  it  gets  nearly  cool." 

"And  why  do  you  stir  it?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  to  keep  it  from  getting  too  hard." 

"Now  I  have  learned  something  I  never  knew 
before,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  delightedly,  "and  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you.  We  must  help  each  other, 
Ranald." 

"Indeed,  it  is  little  I  can  do  for  you,"  he  said, 
shyly. 

"You  do  not  know  how  much  I  am  going  to  ask 
you  to  do,"  she  said,  lightly.  "Wait  and  see." 

At  that  moment  a  series  of  shrieks  rose  high  above 
the  shouting  and  laughter  of  the  games,  and  Maimie 
came  flying  down  toward  the  camp,  pursued  by  Don, 
with  the  others  following. 

"Oh,  auntie!"  she  panted,  "he's  going  to — going 
to — "  she  paused,  with  cheeks  burning. 

"It's  forfeits,  Mrs.  Murray,"  explained  Don. 

"Hoot,  lassie,"  said  Mrs.  Cameron;  "it  will  not 
much  hurt  you,  anyway.  They  that  kiss  in  the  light 
will  not  kiss  in  the  dark." 

"She  played,  and  lost  her  forfeit,"  said  Don,  un- 
willing to  be  jeered  at  by  the  others  for  faint-hearted- 
ness.  "She  ought  to  pay." 

no 


THE        SUGARING-OFF 

"I'm  afraid,  Don,  she  does  not  understand  our 
ways,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  apologetically. 

"Be  off,  Don,"  said  his  mother.  "Kiss  Marget 
there,  if  you  can — it  will  not  hurt  her — and  leave  the 
young  lady  alone." 

"It's  just  horrid  of  them,  auntie,"  said  Maimie, 
indignantly,  as  the  others  went  back  to  their  games. 

"Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Cameron,  warmly,  "if  you 
will  never  do  worse  than  kiss  a  laddie  in  a  game,  it's 
little  harm  will  be  coming  to  you." 

But  Maimie  ignored  her. 

"Is  it  not  horrid,  auntie?"  she  said. 

"Well,  my  dear,  if  you  think  so,  it  is.  But  not 
for  these  girls,  who  play  the  game  with  never  a 
thought  of  impropriety  and  with  no  shock  to  their 
modesty.  Much  depends  on  how  you  think  about 
these  things." 

But  Maimie  was  not  satisfied.  She  was  indignant 
at  Don  for  offering  to  kiss  her,  but  as  she  stood  and 
watched  the  games  going  on  under  the  trees — the  tag, 
the  chase,  the  catch,  and  the  kiss — she  somehow 
began  to  feel  as  if  it  were  not  so  terrible  after  all,  and 
to  think  that  perhaps  these  girls  might  play  the  game 
and  still  be  nice  enough.  But  she  had  no  thought  of 
going  back  to  them,  and  so  she  turned  her  attention 
to  the  preparations  for  tea,  now  almost  complete. 
Her  aunt  and  Ranald  were  toasting  slices  of  bread  at 
the  big  blazing  fire,  on  forks  made  out  of  long  switches. 

"Let  me  try,  auntie,"  she  said,  pushing  up  to  the 
fire  between  her  aunt  and  Ranald.  "I  am  sure  I  can 
do  that." 

in 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Be  careful  of  that  fire,"  said  Ranald,  sharply, 
pulling  back  her  skirt,  that  had  blown  dangerously 
near  the  blaze.  "Stand  back  further,"  he  com- 
manded. 

Mamie  looked  at  him,  surprise,  indignation,  and 
fear  struggling  for  the  mastery.  Was  this  the  awk- 
ward boy  that  had  blushed  and  stammered  before  her 
a  week  ago? 

"It's  very  dangerous,"  he  explained  to  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, "the  wind  blows  out  the  flames." 

As  he  spoke  he  handed  Maimie  his  toasting  stick 
and  retired  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  and  began  to 
attend  to  the  boiling  sap. 

"He  needn't  be  such  a  bear,"  pouted  Maimie. 

"My  dear,"  replied  her  aunt,  "what  Ranald  says 
is  quite  true.  You  cannot  be  too  careful  in  moving 
about  the  fire." 

"Well,  he  needn't  be  so  cross  about  it,"  said 
Maimie.  She  had  never  been  ordered  about  before  in 
her  life,  and  she  did  not  enjoy  the  experience,  and  all 
the  more  at  the  hands  of  an  uncouth  country  boy. 
She  watched  Ranald  attending  to  the  fire  and  the 
kettles,  however,  with  a  new  respect.  He  certainly 
had  no  fear  of  the  fire,  but  moved  about  it  and 
handled  it  with  the  utmost  sang-froid.  He  had  a  cer- 
tain grace,  too,  in  his  movements  that  caught  her  eye, 
and  she  wished  he  would  come  nearer  so  that  she 
could  speak  to  him.  She  had  considerable  confidence 
in  her  powers  of  attraction.  As  if  to  answer  her  wish, 
Ranald  came  straight  to  where  her  aunt  and  she  were 
standing. 


THE        SUGARING-OFF 

"I  think  it  will  be  time  for  tea  now,"  he  said,  with 
a  sudden  return  of  his  awkward  manner,  that  made 
Maimie  wonder  why  she  had  ever  been  afraid  of  him. 
"I  will  tell  Don,"  he  added,  striding  off  toward  the 
group  of  boys  and  girls,  still  busy  with  their  games 
under  the  trees. 

Soon  Don's  shout  was  heard:  "Tea,  ladies  and 
gentlemen;  take  your  seats  at  the  tables."  And 
speedily  there  was  a  rush  and  scramble,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  great  heaps  of  green  balsam  boughs 
arranged  around  the  fire  were  full  of  boys  and  girls 
pulling,  pinching,  and  tumbling  over  one  another  in 
wild  glee. 

The  toast  stood  in  brown  heaps  on  birch-bark  plates 
beside  the  fire,  and  baskets  were  carried  out  of  the 
shanty  bulging  with  cakes ;  the  tea  was  bubbling  in 
the  big  tin  tea-pail,  and  everything  was  ready  for  the 
feast.  But  Ranald  had  caught  Mrs.  Murray's  eye, 
and  at  a  sign  from  her,  stood  waiting  with  the  tea- 
pail  in  his  hand. 

"Come  on  with  the  tea,  Ranald,"  cried  Don,  seiz- 
ing a  plate  of  toast. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Don,"  said  Ranald,  in  a  low  tone. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

But  Ranald  stood  still,  looking  silently  at  the  minis- 
ter's wife.  Then,  as  all  eyes  turned  toward  her,  she 
said,  in  a  gentle,  sweet  voice,  "I  think  we  ought  to 
give  thanks  to  our  Father  in  heaven  for  all  this  beauty 
about  us  and  for  all  our  joy." 

At  once  Ranald  took  off  his  hat,  and  as  the  boys 
followed  his  example,  Mrs.  Murray  bowed  her  head 

"3 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  in  a  few,  simple  words  lifted  up  the  hearts  of  all 
with  her  own  in  thanksgiving  for  the  beauty  of  the 
woods  and  sky  above  them,  and  all  the  many  gifts  that 
came  to  fill  their  lives  with  joy. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Ranald  had  heard  her 
voice  in  prayer,  but  somehow  it  sounded  different  in 
the  open  air  under  the  trees  and  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
jollity  of  the  sugaring-off.  With  all  other  people  that 
Ranald  knew  religion  seemed  to  be  something  apart 
from  common  days,  common  people,  and  common 
things,  and  seemed,  besides,  a  solemn  and  terrible 
experience;  but  with  the  minister's  wife,  religion  was 
a  part  of  her  every-day  living,  and  seemed  to  be  as 
easily  associated  with  her  pleasure  as  with  anything 
else  about  her.  It  was  so  easy,  so  simple,  so  natural, 
that  Ranald  could  not  help  wondering  if,  after  all,  it 
was  the  right  kind.  It  was  so  unlike  the  religion  of 
the  elders  and  all  the  good  people  in  the  congregation. 
It  was  a  great  puzzle  to  Ranald,  as  to  many  others, 
both  before  and  since  his  time. 

After  tea  was  over  the  great  business  of  the  even- 
ing came  on.  Ranald  announced  that  the  taffy  was 
ready,  and  Don,  as  master  of  ceremonies,  immediately 
cried  out:  "The  gentlemen  will  provide  the  ladies 
with  plates." 

"Plates!"  echoed  the  boys,  with  a  laugh  of  deris- 
ion. 

"Plates,"  repeated  Don,  stepping  back  to  a  great 
snowbank,  near  a  balsam  clump,  and  returning  with 
a  piece  of  "crust."  At  once  there  was  a  scurry  to 
the  snowbank,  and  soon  every  one  had  a  snow  plate 

"4 


THE        SUGARING-OFF 

ready.  Then  Ranald  and  Don  slid  the  little  kettle 
along  the  pole  off  the  fire,  and  with  tin  dippers  began 
to  pour  the  hot  syrup  upon  the  snow  plates,  where 
it  immediately  hardened  into  taffy.  Then  the  pulling 
began.  What  fun  there  was,  what  larks,  what  shrieks, 
what  romping  and  tumbling,  till  all  were  heartily  tired, 
both  of  the  taffy  and  the  fun. 

Then  followed  the  sugar-molding.  The  little  kettle 
was  set  back  on  the  fire  and  kept  carefully  stirred, 
while  tin  dishes  of  all  sorts,  shapes,  and  sizes — milk- 
pans,  pattie-pans,  mugs,  and  cups — well  greased  with 
pork  rind,  were  set  out  in  order,  imbedded  in  snow. 

The  last  act  of  all  was  the  making  of  "hens'  nests." 
A  dozen  or  so  of  hens'  eggs,  blown  empty,  and  three 
goose  eggs  for  the  grown-ups,  were  set  in  snow  nests, 
and  carefully  filled  from  the  little  kettle.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  nests  were  filled  with  sugar  eggs,  and  the 
sugaring-off  was  over. 

There  remained  still  a  goose  egg  provided  against 
any  mishap. 

"Who  wants  the  goose  egg?"  cried  Don,  holding 
it  up. 

"Me!"  "Me!"  "Me!"  coaxed  the  girls  on  every 
side. 

"Will  you  give  it  to  me,  Don,  for  the  minister?" 
said  Mrs.  Murray. 

"Oh,  yes!"  cried  Maimie,  "and  let  me  fill  it." 

As  she  spoke,  she  seized  the  dipper,  and  ran  for 
the  kettle. 

"Look  out  for  that  fire,"  cried  Don,  dropping  the 
egg  into  its  snowbed.  He  was  too  late.  A  little 

"5 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

tongue  of  flame  leaped  out  from  under  the  kettle, 
nipped  hold  of  her  frock,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  in 
a  blaze.  With  a  wild  scream  she  sprang  back  and 
turned  to  fly,  but  before  she  had  gone  more  than  a 
single  step  Ranald,  dashing  the  crowd  right  and  left, 
had  seized  and  flung  her  headlong  into  the  snow, 
beating  out  the  flames  with  his  bare  hands.  In  a 
moment  all  danger  was  over,  and  Ranald  lifted  her 
up.  Still  screaming,  she  clung  to  him,  while  the 
women  all  ran  to  her.  Her  aunt  reached  her  first. 

"Hush,  Maimie;  hush,  dear.  You  are  quite  safe 
now.  Let  me  see  your  face.  There  now,  be  quiet, 
child.  The  danger  is  all  over. " 

Still  Maimie  kept  screaming.  She  was  thoroughly 
terrified. 

"Listen  to  me,"  her  aunt  said,  in  an  even,  firm 
voice.  "Do  not  be  foolish.  Let  me  look  at  you." 

The  quiet,  firm  voice  soothed  her,  and  Maimie's 
screams  ceased.  Her  aunt  examined  her  face,  neck, 
and  arms  for  any  signs  of  fire,  but  could  find  none. 
She  was  hardly  touched,  so  swift  had  been  her  rescue. 
Then  Mrs.  Murray,  suddenly  putting  her  arms  round 
about  her  niece,  and  holding  her  tight,  cried:  "Thank 
God,  my  darling,  for  his  great  kindness  to  you  and  to 
us  all.  Thank  God!  thank  God!" 

Her  voice  broke,  but  in  a  moment,  recovering  her- 
self, she  went  on,  "And  Ranald,  too!  noble  fellow!" 

Ranald  was  standing  at  the  back  of  the  crowd, 
looking  pale,  disturbed,  and  awkward.  Mrs.  Murray, 
knowing  how  hateful  to  him  would  be  any  demonstra- 
tions of  feeling,  went  to  him,  and  quietly  held  out  her 

116 


THE        SUGARING-OFF 

hand,  saying:     "It  was  bravely  done,  Ranald.      From 
my  heart,  I  thank  you." 

For  a  moment  or  two  she  looked  steadily  into  his 
face  with  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  Then 
putting  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  she  said,  softly: 
"For  her  dear,  dead  mother's  sake,  I  thank  you." 

Then  Maimie,  who  had  been  standing  in  a  kind  of 
stupor  all  this  while,  seemed  suddenly  to  awake,  and 
running  swiftly  toward  Ranald,  she  put  out  both  hands, 
crying:  "Oh,  Ranald,  I  can  never  thank  you  enough!" 

He  took  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  embarrassment, 
not  knowing  what  to  do  or  say.  Then  Maimie  sud- 
denly dropped  his  hands,  and  throwing  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  kissed  him,  and  ran  back  to  her  aunt's  side. 

"I  thought  you  didn't  play  forfeits,  Maimie,"  said 
Don,  in  a  grieved  voice.  And  every  one  was  glad  to 
laugh. 

Then  the  minister's  wife,  looking  round  upon  them 
all,  said:  "Dear  children,  God  has  been  very  good  to 
us,  and  I  think  we  ought  to  give  him  thanks." 

And  standing  there  by  the  fire,  they  bowed  their 
heads  in  a  new  thanksgiving  to  Him  whose  keeping 
never  fails  by  day  or  night.  And  then,  with  hearts 
and  voices  subdued,  and  with  quiet  good  nights, 
they  went  their  ways  home. 

But  as  the  Cameron  sleigh  drove  off  with  its  load, 
Maimie  looked  back,  and  seeing  Ranald  standing  by 
the  fire,  she  whispered  to  her  aunt:  "Oh,  auntie! 
Isn't  he  just  splendid?" 

But  her  aunt  made  no  reply,  seeing  a  new  danger 
for  them  both,  greater  than  that  they  had  escaped. 

"7 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  SABBATH  DAY'S  WORK 

The  Sabbath  that  followed  the  sugaring-off  was  to 
Maimie  the  most  remarkable  Sabbath  of  her  life  up  to 
that  day.  It  was  totally  unlike  the  Sabbath  of  her 
home,  which,  after  the  formal  "church  parade,"  as 
Harry  called  it,  in  the  morning,  her  father  spent  in 
lounging  with  his  magazine  and  pipe,  her  aunt  in  sleep- 
ing or  in  social  gossip  with  such  friends  as  might  drop 
in,  and  Harry  and  Maimie  as  best  they  could. 

The  Sabbath  in  the  minister's  house,  as  in  the 
homes  of  his  people,  was  a  day  so  set  apart  from  other 
days  that  it  had  to  be  approached.  The  Saturday 
afternoon  and  evening  caught  something  of  its  atmos- 
phere. No  frivolity,  indeed  no  light  amusement, 
was  proper  on  the  evening  that  put  a  period  to  the 
worldly  occupations  and  engagements  of  the  week. 
That  evening  was  one  of  preparation.  The  house, 
and  especially  the  kitchen,  was  thoroughly  "redd  up." 
Wood,  water,  and  kindlings  were  brought  in,  clothes 
were  brushed,  boots  greased  or  polished,  dinner  pre- 
pared, and  in  every  way  possible  the  whole  house,  its 
dwellers,  and  its  belongings,  made  ready  for  the  mor- 
row. So,  when  the  Sabbath  morning  dawned,  people 
awoke  with  a  feeling  that  old  things  had  passed  away 
and  that  the  whole  world  was  new.  The  sun  shone 
with  a  radiance  not  known  on  other  days.  He  was 

US 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

shining  upon  holy  things,  and  lighting  men  and  women 
to  holy  duties.  Through  all  the  farms  the  fields  lay 
bathed  in  his  genial  glow,  at  rest,  and  the  very  trees 
stood  in  silent  worship  of  the  bending  heavens.  Up 
from  stable  and  from  kitchen  came  no  sounds  of  work. 
The  horses  knew  that  no  wheel  would  turn  that  day 
in  labor,  and  the  dogs  lay  sleeping  in  sunny  nooks, 
knowing  as  well  as  any  that  there  was  to  be  no  hunting 
or  roaming  for  them  that  day,  unless  they  chose  to  go 
on  a  free  hunt;  which  none  but  light-headed  puppies 
or  dissipated  and  reprobate  dogs  would  care  to  do. 

Over  all  things  rest  brooded,  and  out  of  the  rest 
grew  holy  thoughts  and  hopes.  It  was  a  day  of  begin- 
nings. For  the  past,  broken  and  stained,  there  was 
a  new  offer  of  oblivion  and  healing,  and  the  heart  was 
summoned  to  look  forward  to  new  life  and  to  hope 
for  better  things,  and  to  drink  in  all  those  soothing, 
healing  influences  that  memory  and  faith  combine  to 
give;  so  that  when  the  day  was  done,  weary  and  dis- 
couraged men  and  women  began  to  feel  that  perhaps 
after  all  they  might  be  able  to  endure  and  even  to 
hope  for  victory. 

The  minister  rose  earlier  on  Sabbath  than  on  other 
days,  the  responsibility  of  his  office  pressing  hard  upon 
him.  Breakfast  was  more  silent  than  usual,  ordinary 
subjects  of  conversation  being  discouraged.  The 
minister  was  preoccupied  and  impatient  of  any  inter- 
ruption of  his  thoughts.  But  his  wife  came  to  the 
table  with  a  sweeter  serenity  than  usual,  and  a  calm 
upon  her  face  that  told  of  hidden  strength.  Even 
Maimie  could  notice  the  difference,  but  she  could  only 

119 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

wonder.  The  secret  of  it  was  hidden  from  her.  Her 
aunt  was  like  no  other  woman  that  she  knew,  and 
there  were  many  things  about  her  too  deep  for  Mai- 
mie's  understanding. 

After  worship,  which  was  brief  but  solemn  and 
intense,  Lambert  hurried  to  bring  round  to  the  front 
the  big  black  horse,  hitched  up  in  the  carryall,  and 
they  all  made  speed  to  pack  themselves  in,  Maimie 
and  her  aunt  in  front,  and  Hughie  on  the  floor  behind 
with  his  legs  under  the  seat ;  for  when  once  the  minis- 
ter was  himself  quite  ready,  and  had  got  his  great 
meerschaum  pipe  going,  it  was  unsafe  for  any  one  to 
delay  him  a  single  instant. 

The  drive  to  the  church  was  an  experience  hardly 
in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the  day.  It  was  more 
exciting  than  restful.  Black  was  a  horse  with  a  single 
aim,  which  was  to  devour  the  space  that  stretched  out 
before  him,  with  a  fine  disregard  of  consequence.  The 
first  part  of  the  road  up  to  the  church  hill  and  down 
again  to  the  swamp  was  to  Black,  as  to  the  others,  an 
unmixed  joy,  for  he  was  fresh  from  his  oats  and  eager  to 
go,  and  his  driver  was  as  eager  to  let  him  have  his  will. 

But  when  the  swamp  was  reached,  and  the  buggy 
began  to  leap  from  log  to  log  of  the  corduroy,  Black 
began  to  chafe  in  impatience  of  the  rein  which  com- 
manded caution.  Indeed,  the  passage  of  the  swamp 
was  always  more  or  less  of  an  adventure,  the  result  of 
which  no  one  could  foretell,  and  it  took  all  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray's steadiness  of  nerve  to  repress  an  exclamation  of 
terror  at  critical  moments.  The  corduroy  was  Black's 
abomination.  He  longed  to  dash  through  and  be 

120 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

done  with  it;  but,  however  much  the  minister  sympa- 
thized with  Black's  desire,  prudence  forbade  that  his 
method  should  be  adopted.  So  from  log  to  log,  and 
from  hole  to  hole,  Black  plunged  and  stepped  with 
all  the  care  he  could  be  persuaded  to  exercise,  every 
lurch  of  the  carryall  bringing  a  scream  from  Maimie  in 
front  and  a  delighted  chuckle  from  Hughie  behind. 
His  delight  in  the  adventure  was  materially  increased 
by  his  cousin's  terror. 

But  once  the  swamp  was  crossed,  and  Black  found 
himself  on  the  firm  road  that  wound  over  the  sand- 
hills and  through  the  open  pine  woods,  he  tossed  his 
great  mane  back  from  his  eyes,  and  getting  his  head 
set  off  at  a  pace  that  foreboded  disaster  to  anything 
trying  to  keep  before  him,  and  in  a  short  time  drew 
up  at  the  church  gates,  his  flanks  steaming  and  his 
great  chest  white  with  foam. 

"My!"  said  Maimie,  when  she  had  recovered  her 
breath  sufficiently  to  speak,  "is  that  the  church?" 
She  pointed  to  a  huge  wooden  building  about  whose 
door  a  group  of  men  were  standing. 

"Huh-huh,  that's  it,"  said  Hughie;  "but  we  will 
soon  be  done  with  the  ugly  old  thing." 

The  most  enthusiastic  member  of  the  congregation 
could  scarcely  call  the  old  church  beautiful,  and  to 
Maimie's  eyes  it  was  positively  hideous.  No  steeple 
or  tower  gave  any  hint  of  its  sacred  character.  Its 
weather-beaten  clapboard  exterior,  spotted  with  black 
knots,  as  if  stricken  with  some  disfiguring  disease,  had 
nothing  but  its  row  of  uncurtained  windows  to  distin- 
guish it  from  an  ordinary  barn. 

121 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

They  entered  by  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  church, 
and  proceeded  down  the  long  aisle  that  ran  the  full 
length  of  the  building,  till  they  came  to  a  cross  aisle 
that  led  them  to  the  minister's  pew  at  the  left  side  of 
the  pulpit,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  whole  con- 
gregation. The  main  body  of  the  church  was  seated 
with  long  box  pews  with  hinged  doors.  But  the  gal- 
lery that  ran  round  three  sides  was  fitted  with  simple 
benches.  Immediately  in  front  of  the  pulpit  was  a 
square  pew  which  was  set  apart  for  the  use  of  the 
elders,  and  close  up  to  the  pulpit,  and  indeed  as  part 
of  this  structure,  was  a  precentor's  desk.  The  pulpit 
was,  to  Maimie's  eyes,  a  wonder.  It  was  an  octago- 
nal box  placed  high  on  one  side  of  the  church  on  a 
level  with  the  gallery,  and  reached  by  a  spiral  stair- 
case. Above  it  hung  the  highly  ornate  and  altogether 
extraordinary  sounding-board  and  canopy.  There 
was  no  sign  of  paint  anywhere,  but  the  yellow  pine, 
of  which  seats,  gallery,  and  pulpit  were  all  made, 
had  deepened  with  age  into  a  rich  brown,  not  un- 
pleasant to  the  eye. 

The  church  was  full,  for  the  Indian  Lands  people 
believed  in  going  to  church,  and  there  was  not  a  house 
for  many  miles  around  but  was  represented  in  the 
church  that  day.  There  they  sat,  row  upon  row  of 
men,  brawny  and  brown  with  wind  and  sun,  a  notable 
company,  worthy  of  their  ancestry  and  worthy  of  their 
heritage.  Beside  them  sat  their  wives,  brown,  too, 
and  weather-beaten,  but  strong,  deep-bosomed,  and 
with  faces  of  calm  content,  worthy  to  be  mothers  of 
their  husbands'  sons.  The  girls  and  younger  children 

132 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

sat  with  their  parents,  modest,  shy,  and  reverent,  but 
the  young  men,  for  the  most  part,  filled  the  back  seats 
under  the  gallery.  And  a  hardy  lot  they  were,  as 
brown  and  brawny  as  their  fathers,  but  tingling  with 
life  to  their  finger-tips,  ready  for  anything,  and  im- 
possible of  control  except  by  one  whom  they  feared 
as  well  as  reverenced.  And  such  a  man  was  Alex- 
ander Murray,  for  they  knew  well  that,  lithe  and 
brawny  as  they  were,  there  was  not  a  man  of  them 
but  he  could  fling  out  of  the  door  and  over  the  fence 
if  he  so  wished ;  and  they  knew,  too,  that  he  would  be 
prompt  to  do  it  if  occasion  arose.  Hence  they  waited 
for  the  word  of  God  with  all  due  reverence  and  fear. 
In  the  square  pew  in  front  of  the  pulpit  sat  the 
elders,  hoary,  massive,  and  venerable.  The  Indian 
Lands  Session  were  worth  seeing.  Great  men  they 
were,  every  one  of  them,  excepting,  perhaps,  Ken- 
neth Campbell,  "Kenny  Crubach,"  as  he  was  called, 
from  his  halting  step.  Kenny  was  neither  hoary  nor 
massive  nor  venerable.  He  was  a  short,  grizzled  man 
with  snapping  black  eyes  and  a  tongue  for  clever, 
biting  speech ;  and  while  he  bore  a  stainless  character, 
no  one  thought  of  him  as  an  eminently  godly  man. 
In  public  prayer  he  never  attained  any  great  length, 
nor  did  he  employ  that  tone  of  unction  deemed  suit- 
able in  this  sacred  exercise.  He  seldom  "spoke  to 
the  question,"  but  when  he  did  people  leaned  for- 
ward to  listen,  and  more  especially  the  rows  of  the 
careless  and  ungodly  under  the  gallery.  Kenny  had 
not  the  look  of  an  elder,  and  indeed,  many  wondered 
how  he  had  ever  come  to  be  chosen  for  the  office. 

123 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

But  the  others  all  had  the  look  of  elders,  and  carried 
with  them  the  full  respect  and  affection  of  the  congre- 
gation. Even  the  young  men  under  the  gallery  re- 
garded them  with  reverence  for  their  godly  character, 
but  for  other  things  as  well ;  for  these  old  men  had 
been  famous  in  their  day,  and  tales  were  still  told 
about  the  firesides  of  the  people  of  their  prowess  in 
the  woods  and  on  the  river. 

There  was,  for  instance,  Finlay  McEwen,  or  Mc- 
Keowen,  as  they  all  pronounced  it  in  that  country, 
who,  for  a  wager,  had  carried  a  four-hundred-pound 
barrel  upon  each  hip  across  the  long  bridge  over  the 
Scotch  River.  And  next  him  sat  Donald  Ross,  whose 
very  face,  with  its  halo  of  white  hair,  bore  benediction 
with  it  wherever  he  went.  What  a  man  he  must  have 
been  in  his  day!  Six  feet  four  inches  he  stood  in  his 
stocking  soles,  and  with  "a  back  like  a  barn  door," 
as  his  son  Danny,  or  "Curly,"  now  in  the  shanty  with 
Macdonald  Bhain,  used  to  say,  in  affectionate  pride. 
Then  there  was  Farquhar  McNaughton,  big,  kindly, 
and  good-natured,  a  mighty  man  with  the  ax  in  his 
time.  "Kirsty's  Farquhar"  they  called  him,  for 
obvious  reasons.  And  a  good  thing  for  Farquhar  it 
was  that  he  had  had  Kirsty  at  his  side  during  these 
years  to  make  his  bargains  for  him  and  to  keep  him 
and  all  others  to  them,  else  he  would  never  have 
become  the  substantial  man  he  was. 

Next  to  Farquhar  was  Peter  McRae,  the  chief  of  a 
large  clan  of  respectable,  and  none  too  respectable, 
families,  whom  all  alike  held  in  fear,  for  Peter  ruled 
with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  his  word  ran  as  law  through- 

124 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

out  the  clan.  Then  there  was  Ian  More  Macgregor, 
or  "Big  John  Macgregor,"  as  the  younger  generation 
called  him,  almost  as  big  as  Donald  Ross  and  quite  as 
kindly,  but  with  a  darker,  sadder  face.  Something 
from  his  wilder  youth  had  cast  its  shadow  over  his 
life.  No  one  but  his  minister  and  two  others  knew 
that  story,  but  the  old  man  knew  it  himself,  and  that 
was  enough.  One  of  those  who  shared  his  secret  was 
his  neighbor  and  crony,  Donald  Ross,  and  it  was 
worth  a  journey  of  some  length  to  see  these  two  great 
old  men,  one  with  the  sad  and  the  other  with  the 
sunny  face,  stride  off  together,  staff  in  hand,  at  the 
close  of  the  Gaelic  service,  to  Donald's  home,  where 
the  afternoon  would  be  spent  in  discourse  fitting  the 
Lord's  day  and  in  prayer. 

The  only  other  elder  was  Roderick  McCuiag,  who 
sat,  not  in  the  elders'  pew,  but  in  the  precentor's  box, 
for  he  was  the  Leader  of  Psalmody.  ' '  Straight  Rory , ' ' 
as  he  was  called  by  the  irreverent,  was  tall,  spare, 
and  straight  as  a  ramrod.  He  was  devoted  to  his 
office,  jealous  of  its  dignity,  and  strenuous  in  his  oppo- 
sition to  all  innovations  in  connection  with  the  Service 
of  Praise.  He  was  especially  opposed  to  the  intro- 
duction of  those  "new-fangled  ranting"  tunes  which 
were  being  taught  the  young  people  by  John  "Alec" 
Fraser  in  the  weekly  singing-school  in  the  Nineteenth, 
and  which  were  sung  at  Mrs.  Murray's  Sabbath  even- 
ing Bible  class  in  the  Little  Church.  Straight  Rory 
had  been  educated  for  a  teacher  in  Scotland,  and  was 
something  of  a  scholar.  He  loved  school  examina- 
tions, where  he  was  the  terror  of  pupils  and  teachers 

125 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

alike.  His  acute  mind  reveled  in  the  metaphysics  of 
theology,  which  made  him  the  dread  of  all  candidates 
who  appeared  before  the  session  desiring  "to  come 
forward."  It  was  to  many  an  impressive  sight  to  see 
Straight  Rory  rise  in  the  precentor's  box,  feel  round, 
with  much  facial  contortion,  for  the  pitch — he  despised 
a  tuning-fork — and  then,  straightening  himself  up  till 
he  bent  over  backwards,  raise  the  chant  that  intro- 
duced the  tune  to  the  congregation.  But  to  the 
young  men  under  the  gallery  he  was  more  humorous 
than  impressive,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  they  waited 
for  the  precentor's  weekly  performance  with  a  delighted 
expectation  that  never  flagged  and  that  was  never  dis- 
appointed. It  was  only  the  flash  of  the  minister's 
blue  eye  that  held  their  faces  rigid  in  preternatural 
solemnity,  and  forced  them  to  content  themselves 
with  winks  and  nudges  for  the  expression  of  their 
delight. 

As  Maimie's  eye  went  wandering  shyly  over  the 
rows  of  brown  faces  that  turned  in  solemn  and  stead- 
fast regard  to  the  minister's  pew,  Hughie  nudged  her 
and  whispered:  "There's  Don.  See,  in  the  back 
seat  by  the  window,  next  to  Peter  Ruagh  yonder;  the 
red-headed  fellow." 

He  pointed  to  Peter  McRae,  grandson  of  "Peter 
the  Elder."  There  was  no  mistaking  that  landmark. 

"Look,"  cried  Hughie,  eagerly,  pointing  with  ter- 
rible directness  straight  at  Don,  to  Maimie's  confusion. 

"Whisht,  Hughie,"  said  his  mother  softly. 

"There's  Ranald,  mother,"  said  the  diplomatic 
Hughie,  knowing  well  that  his  mother  would  rejoice 

126 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

to  hear  that  bit  of  news.  "See,  mother,  just  in  front 
of  Don,  there." 

Again  Hughie's  terrible  finger  pointed  straight  into 
the  face  of  the  gazing  congregation. 

"Hush,  Hughie,"  said  his  mother,  severely. 

Maimie  knew  a  hundred  eyes  were  looking  straight 
at  the  minister's  pew,  but  for  the  life  of  her  she  could 
not  prevent  her  eye  following  the  pointing  finger,  till 
it  found  the  steady  gaze  of  Ranald  fastened  upon  her. 
It  was  only  for  a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  she 
felt  her  heart  jump  and  her  face  grow  hot,  and  it  did 
not  help  her  that  she  knew  that  the  people  were  all 
wondering  at  her  furious  blushes.  Of  course  the  story 
of  the  sugaring-off  had  gone  the  length  of  the  land 
and  had  formed  the  subject  of  conversation  at  the 
church  door  that  morning,  where  Ranald  had  to  bear 
a  good  deal  of  chaff  about  the  young  lady,  and  her 
dislike  of  forfeits,  till  he  was  ready  to  fight  if  a 
chance  should  but  offer.  With  unspeakable  rage  and 
confusion,  he  noticed  Hughie's  pointing  finger.  He 
caught,  too,  Maimie's  quick  look,  with  the  vivid  blush 
that  followed.  Unfortunately,  others  besides  himself 
had  noticed  this,  and  Don  and  Peter  Ruagh,  in  the 
seat  behind  him,  made  it  the  subject  of  congratulatory 
remarks  to  Ranald. 

At  this  point  the  minister  rose  in  the  pulpit,  and 
all  waited  with  earnest  and  reverent  mien  for  the 
announcing  of  the  psalm. 

The  Rev.  Alexander  Murray  was  a  man  to  be  re- 
garded in  any  company  and  under  any  circumstances, 
but  when  he  stood  up  in  his  pulpit  and  faced  his  con- 

127 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

gregation  he  was  truly  superb.  He  was  above  the 
average  height,  of  faultless  form  and  bearing,  athletic, 
active,  and  with  a  "spring  in  every  muscle."  He  had 
coal-black  hair  and  beard,  and  a  flashing  blue  eye  that 
held  his  people  in  utter  subjection  and  put  the  fear  of 
death  upon  evil-doers  under  the  gallery.  In  every 
movement,  tone,  and  glance  there  breathed  imperial 
command. 

"Let  us  worship  God  by  singing  to  His  praise  in 
the  one  hundred  and  twenty-first  psalm : 

'  I  to  the  hills  will  lift  mine  eyes, 
From  whence  doth  come  mine  aid.' " 

His  voice  rang  out  over  the  congregation  like  a  silver 
bell,  and  Maimie  thought  she  had  never  seen  a  man 
of  such  noble  presence. 

After  the  reading  of  the  psalm  the  minister  sat 
down,  and  Straight  Rory  rose  in  his  box,  and  after  his 
manner,  began  feeling  about  for  the  first  note  of  the 
chant  that  would  introduce  the  noble  old  tune  "St. 
Paul's."  A  few  moments  he  spent  twisting  his  face 
and  shoulders  in  a  manner  that  threatened  to  ruin  the 
solemnity  of  the  worshipers  under  the  gallery,  till 
finally  he  seemed  to  hit  upon  the  pitch  desired,  and 
throwing  back  his  head  and  closing  one  eye,  he  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way.  Each  line  he  chanted  alone,  after 
the  ancient  Scottish  custom,  after  which  the  congre- 
gation joined  with  him  in  the  tune.  The  custom 
survived  from  the  time  when  psalm-books  were  in  the 
hands  of  but  few  and  the  "lining"  of  the  psalm  was 
therefore  necessary. 

128 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 


PEECENTOE. 


CONGEEGATION. 


feztia 


22: 


I   to  the  hills  will  lift  mine  eyes,     I to. 


the hills...  will lift mine        eyes; 

PEECENTOE.  CONGEEGATION. 


£ 


•m 


j     j .    j  -  ^  »  j     j    » -tf- :  -^j   *  j 


From  whence  dotfi  come    mine    aid,      From whence 

PEECENTOE. 


[iff  /^)T^ 


doth...  come...     mine aid My  safe- ty 

CONGEEGATION.  _ 


>KffF                 \- 



1        1  i  1        ' 

4^T    ;           fcz±4ii.  js 

eJ     '    ' 

<^?,  .  j  *4 

r-^  •  »r 

^  '  "f 

^L  <  1  —  s>.»   "  1  [—  > 

com  -  ef  ft  /rom  (fte    iord.     My  

safe    - 

ty....  com- 

y                                          PEECENTOE. 
,  ^=V—  |  1  ,  „—  *      -|           -V-r-f 

|           1  n 

~E2  f  1  ' 

—  r  —  u 

-       J      1   * 

eth    from       the    Lord.  Who  heav'n  and  earth  hath  made. 

,  COXGEEGATION. 


Who....  heav'n      and...     earth hath....   made. 

"ST.  PAUL'S,"  AS  CHANTED  BY  STRAIGHT  RORY  AND  SUNG  BY 
THE  CONGREGATION. 

I2Q 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

There  was  no  haste  to  be  done  with  the  psalm. 
Why  should  there  be?  They  had  only  one  Sabbath 
in  the  week,  and  the  whole  day  was  before  them. 
The  people  surrendered  themselves  to  the  lead  of 
Straight  Rory  with  unmistakable  delight  in  that  part 
of  "the  exercises"  of  the  day  in  which  they  were  per- 
mitted to  audibly  join.  But  of  all  the  congregation, 
none  enjoyed  the  singing  more  than  the  dear  old 
women  who  sat  in  the  front  seats  near  the  pulpit,  their 
quiet  old  faces  looking  so  sweet  and  pure  under  their 
snow-white  "mutches."  There  they  sat  and  sang  and 
quavered,  swaying  their  bodies  with  the  tune  in  an 
ecstasy  of  restful  joy. 

Maimie  had  often  heard  St.  Paul's  before,  but 
never  as  it  was  chanted  by  Straight  Rory  and  sung  by 
the  Indian  Lands  congregation  that  day.  The  extra- 
ordinary slides  and  slurs  almost  obliterated  the  notes 
of  the  original  tune,  and  the  "little  kick,"  as  Maimie 
called  it,  at  the  end  of  the  second  line,  gave  her  a 
little  start. 

"Auntie,"  she  whispered,  "isn't  it  awfully  queer?" 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?"  her  aunt  answered,  with  an 
uncertain  smile.  She  was  remembering  how  these 
winding,  sliding,  slurring  old  tunes  had  affected  her 
when  first  she  heard  them  in  her  husband's  church 
years  ago.  The  stately  movement,  the  weird  quavers, 
and  the  pathetic  cadences  had  in  some  mysterious  way 
reached  the  deep  places  in  her  heart,  and  before  she 
knew,  she  had  found  the  tears  coursing  down  her 
cheeks  and  her  breath  catching  in  sobs.  Indeed,  as 
she  listened  to-day,  remembering  these  old  impres- 

130 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

sions,  the  tears  began  to  flow,  till  Hughie,  not  under- 
standing, crept  over  to  his  mother,  and  to  comfort 
her,  slipped  his  hand  into  hers,  looking  fiercely  at 
Maimie  as  if  she  were  to  blame.  Maimie,  too,  noticed 
the  tears  and  sat  wondering,  and  as  the  congregation 
swung  on  through  the  verses  of  the  grand  old  psalm 
there  crept  into  her  heart  a  new  and  deeper  emotion 
than  she  had  ever  known. 

"Listen  to  the  words,  Maimie  dear,"  whispered 
her  aunt.  And  as  Maimie  listened,  the  noble  words, 
borne  on  the  mighty  swing  of  St.  Paul's,  lifted  up  by 
six  hundred  voices — for  men,  women,  and  children 
were  singing  with  all  their  hearts — awakened  echoes 
from  great  deeps  within  her  as  yet  unsounded.  The 
days  for  such  singing  are,  alas!  long  gone.  The  noble 
rhythm,  the  stately  movement,  the  continuous  curving 
stream  of  melody,  that  once  marked  the  praise  service 
of  the  old  Scottish  church,  have  given  place  to  the 
light,  staccato  tinkle  of  the  revival  chorus,  or  the 
shorn  and  mutilated  skeleton  of  the  ancient  psalm 
tune. 

But  while  the  psalm  had  been  moving  on  in  its 
solemn  and  stately  way,  Ranald  had  been  enduring 
agony  at  the  hands  of  Peter  Ruagh  sitting  just  behind 
him.  Peter,  whose  huge,  clumsy  body  was  a  fitting 
tabernacle  for  the  soul  within,  labored  under  the  im- 
pression that  he  was  a  humorist,  and  indulged  a  habit 
of  ponderous  joking,  trying  enough  to  most  people, 
but  to  one  of  Ranald's  temperament  exasperating  to 
a  high  degree.  His  theme  was  Ranald's  rescue  of 
Maimie,  and  the  pauses  of  the  singing  he  filled  in  with 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

humorous  comments  that,  outside,  would  have  pro- 
duced only  weariness,  but  in  the  church,  owing  to  the 
strange  perversity  of  human  nature,  sent  a  snicker 
along  the  seat.  Unfortunately  for  him,  Ranald's  face 
was  so  turned  that  he  could  not  see  it,  and  so  he  had 
no  hint  of  the  wrath  that  was  steadily  boiling  up  to 
the  point  of  overflow. 

They  were  nearing  the  close  of  the  last  verse  of  the 
psalm,  when  Hughie,  whose  eyes  never  wandered  long 
from  Ranald's  direction,  uttered  a  sharp  "Oh,  my!" 
There  was  a  shuffling  confusion  under  the  gallery,  and 
when  Maimie  and  her  aunt  looked,  Peter  Ruagh's  place 
was  vacant. 

By  this  time  the  minister  was  standing  up  for 
prayer.  His  eye,  too,  caught  the  movement  in  the 
back  seat. 

"Young  men,"  he  said,  sternly,  "remember  you 
are  in  God's  house.  Let  me  not  have  to  mention 
your  names  before  the  congregation.  Let  us  pray." 

As  the  congregation  rose  for  prayer,  Mrs.  Murray 
noticed  Peter  Ruagh  appear  from  beneath  the  book- 
board  and  quietly  slip  out  by  the  back  door  with  his 
hand  to  his  face  and  the  blood  streaming  between  his 
fingers;  and  though  Ranald  was  standing  up  straight 
and  stiff  in  his  place,  Mrs.  Murray  could  read  from 
his  rigid  look  the  explanation  of  Peter's  bloody  face. 
She  gave  her  mind  to  the  prayer  with  a  sore  heart,  for 
she  had  learned  enough  of  those  wild,  hot-headed 
youths  to  know  that  before  Peter  Ruagh's  face  would 
be  healed  more  blood  would  have  to  flow. 

The  prayer  proceeded  in  its  leisurely  way,  indulging 

132 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

here  and  there  in  quiet  reverie,  or  in  exultant  jubila- 
tion over  the  "attributes,"  embracing  in  its  world- 
wide sweep  "the  interests  of  the  kingdom"  far  and 
near,  and  of  that  part  of  humanity  included  therein 
present  and  to  come,  and  buttressing  its  petitions  with 
theological  argument,  systematic  and  unassailable. 
Before  the  close,  however,  the  minister  came  to  deal 
with  the  needs  of  his  own  people.  Old  and  young, 
absent  and  present,  the  sick,  the  weary,  the  sin-bur- 
dened— all  were  remembered  with  a  warmth  of  sym- 
pathy, with  a  directness  of  petition,  and  with  an 
earnestness  of  appeal  that  thrilled  and  subdued  the 
hearts  of  all,  and  made  even  the  boys,  who  had  borne 
with  difficulty  the  last  half-hour  of  the  long  prayer, 
forget  their  weariness. 

The  reading  of  Scripture  followed  the  prayer.  In 
this  the  minister  excelled.  His  fine  voice  and  his 
dramatic  instinct  combined  to  make  this  an  impressive 
and  beautiful  portion  of  the  service.  But  to-day  much 
of  the  beauty  and  impressiveness  of  the  reading  was 
lost  by  the  frequent  interruptions  caused  by  the 
entrance  of  late  comers,  of  whom,  owing  to  the  bad 
roads,  there  were  a  larger  number  than  usual.  The 
minister  was  evidently  annoyed,  not  so  much  by  the 
opening  and  shutting  of  the  door  as  by  the  inatten- 
tion of  his  hearers,  who  kept  turning  round  their  heads 
to  see  who  the  new  arrivals  were.  At  length  the 
minister  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"My  dear  people,"  he  said,  pausing  in  the  reading, 
"never  mind  those  coming  in.  Give  you  heed  to  the 
reading  of  God's  Word,  and  if  you  must  know  who 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

are  entering,  I  will  tell  you.  Yes,"  he  added,  deliber- 
ately, "give  you  heed  to  me,  and  I  will  let  you  know 
who  these  late  comers  are." 

With  that  startling  declaration,  he  proceeded  with 
the  reading,  but  had  not  gone  more  than  a  few  verses 
when  "click"  went  the  door-latch.  Not  a  head 
turned.  It  was  Malcolm  Monroe,  slow-going  and 
good-natured,  with  his  quiet  little  wife  following  him. 

The  minister  paused,  looking  toward  the  door,  and 
announced:  "My  dear  people,  here  comes  our  friend 
Malcolm  Monroe,  and  his  good  wife  with  him,  and  a 
long  walk  they  have  had.  Come  away,  Malcolm; 
come  away;  we  will  just  wait  for  you." 

Malcolm's  face  was  a  picture.  Surprise,  astonish- 
ment, and  confusion  followed  each  other  across  his 
stolid  countenance;  and  with  quicker  pace  than  he 
was  ever  known  to  use  in  his  life  before,  he  made  his 
way  to  his  seat.  No  sooner  had  the  reading  began 
again  when  once  more  the  door  clicked.  True  to  his 
promise,  the  minister  paused  and  cheerfully  announced 
to  his  people:  "This,  my  friends,  is  John  Campbell, 
whom  you  all  know  as  'Johnnie  Sarah,'  and  we  are 
very  glad  to  see  him,  for,  indeed,  he  has  not  been  here 
for  some  time.  Come  away,  John ;  come  away,  man," 
he  added,  impatiently,  "for  we  are  all  waiting  for 
you." 

Johnnie  Sarah  stood  paralyzed  with  amazement 
and  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  advance  or  to  turn 
and  flee.  The  minister's  impatient  command,  how- 
ever, decided  him,  and  he  dropped  into  the  nearest 
seat  with  all  speed,  and  gazed  about  him  as  if  to  dis- 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

cover  where  he  was.  He  had  no  sooner  taken  his 
seat  than  the  door  opened  again,  and  some  half-dozen 
people  entered.  The  minister  stood  looking  at  them 
for  some  moments  and  then  said,  in  a  voice  of  resig- 
nation: "Friends,  these  are  some  of  our  people  from 
the  Island,  and  there  are  some  strangers  with  them. 
But  if  you  want  to  know  who  they  are,  you  will  just 
have  to  look  at  them  yourselves,  for  I  must  get  on 
with  the  reading." 

Needless  to  say,  not  a  soul  of  the  congregation, 
however  consumed  with  curiosity,  dared  to  look 
around,  and  the  reading  of  the  chapter  went  gravely 
on  to  the  close.  To  say  that  Maimie  sat  in  utter 
astonishment  during  this  extraordinary  proceeding 
would  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  her  state  of  mind. 
Even  Mrs.  Murray  herself,  who  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  her  husband's  eccentricities,  sat  in  a  state 
of  utter  bewilderment,  not  knowing  what  might  hap- 
pen next ;  nor  did  she  feel  quite  safe  until  the  text 
was  announced  and  the  sermon  fairly  begun. 

Important  as  were  the  exercises  of  reading,  praise, 
and  prayer,  they  were  only  the  "opening  services," 
and  merely  led  up  to  the  event  of  the  day,  which  was 
the  sermon.  And  it  was  the  event,  not  only  of  the 
day,  but  of  the  week.  It  would  form  the  theme  of 
conversation  and  afford  food  for  discussion  in  every 
gathering  of  the  people  until  another  came  to  take  its 
place.  To-day  it  lasted  a  full  hour  and  a  half,  and 
was  an  extraordinary  production.  Calm,  deliberate 
reasoning,  flights  of  vivid  imagination,  passionate 
denunciation,  and  fervid  appeal,  marked  its  course. 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

Its  subject  was  the  great  doctrine  of  Justification  by 
Faith,  and  it  contained  a  complete  system  of  theology 
arranged  with  reference  to  that  doctrine.  Ancient 
heresies  were  attacked  and  exposed  with  completeness 
amounting  to  annihilation.  Modern  errors,  into  which 
our  "friends"  of  the  different  denominations  had 
fallen,  were  deplored  and  corrected,  and  all  possible 
misapplications  of  the  doctrine  to  practical  life  guarded 
against.  On  the  positive  side  the  need,  the  ground, 
the  means,  the  method,  the  agent,  the  results,  of 
Justification,  were  fully  set  forth  and  illustrated. 
There  were  no  anecdotes  and  no  poetry.  The  sub- 
ject was  much  too  massive  and  tremendous  to  permit 
of  any  such  trifling. 

As  the  sermon  rolled  on  its  majestic  course,  the 
congregation  listened  with  an  attentive  and  discrimi- 
nating appreciation  that  testified  to  their  earnestness 
and  intelligence.  True,  one  here  and  there  dropped 
into  a  momentary  doze,  but  his  slumber  was  never 
easy,  for  he  was  harassed  by  the  terrible  fear  of  a 
sudden  summons  by  name  from  the  pulpit  to  "awake 
and  give  heed  to  the  message,"  which  for  the  next 
few  minutes  would  have  an  application  so  personal 
and  pungent  that  it  would  effectually  prevent  sleep 
for  that  and  some  successive  Sabbaths.  The  only 
apparent  lapse  of  attention  occurred  when  Donald 
Ross  opened  his  horn  snuff-box,  and  after  tapping 
solemnly  upon  its  lid,  drew  forth  a  huge  pinch  of  snuff 
and  passed  it  to  his  neighbor,  who,  after  helping  him- 
self in  like  manner,  passed  the  box  on.  That  the 
lapse  was  only  apparent  was  made  evident  by  the  air 

136 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

of  abstraction  with  which  this  operation  was  carried 
on,  the  snuff  being  held  between  the  thumb  and  fore- 
finger for  some  moments,  until  a  suitable  resting-place 
in  the  sermon  was  reached. 

When  the  minister  had  arrived  at  the  middle  of  the 
second  head,  he  made  the  discovery,  as  was  not  fre- 
quently the  case,  that  the  remotest  limits  of  the 
allotted  time  had  been  passed,  and  announcing  that 
the  subject  would  be  concluded  on  the  following  Sab- 
bath, he  summarily  brought  the  English  service  to  a 
close,  and  dismissed  the  congregation  with  a  brief 
prayer,  two  verses  of  a  psalm,  and  the  benediction. 

When  Maimie  realized  that  the  service  was  really 
over,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  in  church  for  a  week. 
After  the  benediction  the  congregation  passed  out 
into  the  churchyard  and  disposed  themselves  in  groups 
about  the  gate  and  along  the  fences  discussing  the 
sermon  and  making  brief  inquiries  as  to  the  "weal  and 
ill"  of  the  members  of  their  families.  Mrs.  Murray, 
leaving  Hughie  and  Maimie  to  wander  at  will,  passed 
from  group  to  group,  welcomed  by  all  with  equal 
respect  and  affection.  Young  men  and  old  men, 
women  and  girls  alike,  were  glad  to  get  her  word. 
To-day,  however,  the  young  men  were  not  at  first  to 
be  seen,  but  Mrs.  Murray  knew  them  well  enough 
to  suspect  that  they  would  be  found  at  the  back  of 
the  church,  so  she  passed  slowly  around  the  church, 
greeting  the  people  as  she  went,  and  upon  turning  the 
corner  she  saw  a  crowd  under  the  big  maple,  the  ren- 
dezvous for  the  younger  portion  of  the  congregation 
before  "church  went  in."  .In  the  center  of  the  group 

J37 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

stood  Ranald  and  Don,  with  Murdie,  Don's  eldest 
brother,  a  huge,  good-natured  man,  beside  them,  and 
Peter  Ruagh,  with  his  cousin  Aleck,  and  others  of  the 
clan.  Ranald  was  standing,  pale  and  silent,  with  his 
head  thrown  back,  as  his  manner  was  when  in  passion. 
The  talk  was  mainly  between  Aleck  and  Murdie,  the 
others  crowding  eagerly  about  and  putting  in  a  word 
as  they  could.  Murdie  was  reasoning  good-humor- 
edly,  Aleck  replying  fiercely. 

"It  was  good  enough  for  him,"  Mrs.  Murray  heard 
Don  interject,  in  a  triumphant  tone,  to  Murdie.  But 
Murdie  shut  him  off  sternly. 

"Whisht,  Don,  you  are  not  talking  just  now." 

Don  was  about  to  reply  when  he  caught  sight  of 
Mrs.  Murray.  "Here's  the  minister's  wife,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  and  at  once  the  group  parted  in  shame- 
faced confusion.  But  Murdie  kept  his  face  unmoved, 
and  as  Mrs.  Murray  drew  slowly  near,  said,  in  a  quiet 
voice  of  easy  good-humor,  to  Aleck,  who  was  standing 
with  a  face  like  that  of  a  detected  criminal:  "Well, 
we  will  see  about  it  to-morrow  night,  Aleck,  at  the 
post-office,"  and  he  faced  about  to  meet  Mrs.  Murray 
with  an  easy  smile,  while  Aleck  turned  away.  But 
Mrs.  Murray  was  not  deceived,  and  she  went  straight 
to  the  point. 

"Murdie,"  she  said,  quietly,  when  she  had  an- 
swered his  greeting,  "will  you  just  come  with  me  a 
little;  I  want  to  ask  you  about  something."  And 
Murdie  walked  away  with  her,  followed  by  the  winks 
and  nods  of  the  others. 

What  she  said  Murdie  never  told,  but  he  came 
'38 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

back  to  them  more  determined  upon  peace  than  ever. 
The  difficulty  lay,  not  with  the  good-natured  Peter, 
who  was  ready  enough  to  settle  with  Ranald,  but  with 
the  fiery  Aleck,  who  represented  the  non-respectable 
section  of  the  clan  McRae,  who  lived  south  of  the 
Sixteenth,  and  had  a  reputation  for  wildness.  Fight- 
ing was  their  glory,  and  no  one  cared  to  enter  upon  a 
feud  with  any  one  of  them.  Murdie  had  interfered 
on  Ranald's  behalf,  chiefly  because  he  was  Don's 
friend,  but  also  because  he  was  unwilling  that  Ranald 
should  be  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  the  McRaes, 
which  he  knew  would  be  a  serious  affair  for  him.  But 
now  his  strongest  reason  for  desiring  peace  was  that 
he  had  pledged  himself  to  the  minister's  wife  to  bring 
it  about  in  some  way  or  other.  So  he  took  Peter  off 
by  himself,  and  without  much  difficulty,  persuaded 
him  to  act  the  magnanimous  part  and  drop  the 
quarrel. 

With  Ranald  he  had  a  harder  task.  That  young 
man  was  prepared  to  see  his  quarrel  through  at  what- 
ever consequences  to  himself.  He  knew  the  McRaes, 
and  knew  well  their  reputation,  but  that  only  made  it 
more  impossible  for  him  to  retreat.  But  Murdie  knew 
better  than  to  argue  with  him,  so  he  turned  away  from 
him  with  an  indifferent  air,  saying:  "Oh,  very  well. 
Peter  is  willing  to  let  it  drop.  You  can  do  as  you 
please,  only  I  know  the  minister's  wife  expects  you 
to  make  it  up." 

"What  did  she  say  to  you,  then?"  asked  Ranald, 
fiercely. 

"She  said  a  number  of  things  that  you  don't  need 
139 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

to  know,  but  she  said  this,  whatever,  'He  will  make 
it  up  for  my  sake,  I  know.' 

Ranald  stood  a  moment  silent,  then  said,  suddenly  ; 
"I  will,  too,"  and  walking  straight  over  to  Peter,  he 
offered  his  hand,  saying,  "I  was  too  quick,  Peter,  and 
I  am  willing  to  take  as  much  as  I  gave.  You  can  go 
on." 

But  Peter  was  far  too  soft-hearted  to  accept  that 
invitation,  and  seizing  Ranald's  hand,  said,  heartily: 
"Never  mind,  Ranald,  it  was  my  own  fault.  We  will 
just  say  nothing  more  about  it." 

"There  is  the  singing,  boys,"  said  Murdie. 
"Come  away.  Let  us  go  in." 

He  was  all  the  more  anxious  to  get  the  boys  into 
the  church  when  he  saw  Aleck  making  toward  them. 
He  hurried  Peter  in  before  him,  well  pleased  with 
himself  and  his  success  as  peacemaker,  but  especially 
delighted  that  he  could  now  turn  his  face  toward  the 
minister's  pew,  without  shame.  And  as  he  took  his 
place  in  the  back  seat,  with  Peter  Ruagh  beside  him, 
the  glance  of  pride  and  gratitude  that  flashed  across 
the  congregation  to  him  from  the  gray-brown  eyes 
made  Murdie  feel  more  than  ever  pleased  at  what  he 
had  been  able  to  do.  But  he  was  somewhat  disturbed 
to  notice  that  neither  Ranald  nor  Don  nor  Aleck  had 
followed  him  into  the  church,  and  he  waited  uneasily 
for  their  coming. 

In  the  meantime  Straight  Rory  was  winding  his 
sinuous  way  through  Coleshill,  the  Gaelic  rhythm  of 
the  psalm  allowing  of  quavers  and  turns  impossible  in 
the  English. 

140 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

In  the  pause  following  the  second  verse,  Murdie 
was  startled  at  the  sound  of  angry  voices  from  with- 
out. More  than  Murdie  heard  that  sound.  As  Mur- 
die glanced  toward  the  pulpit  he  saw  that  the  minister 
had  risen  and  was  listening  intently. 

' '  Behold — the — sparrow — findeth — out — '  'chanted 
the  precentor. 

"You  are  a  liar!"  The  words,  in  Aleck's  fiery 
voice  outside,  fell  distinctly  upon  Murdie's  ear,  though 
few  in  the  congregation  seemed  to  have  heard.  But 
while  Murdie  was  making  up  his  mind  to  slip  out,  the 
minister  was  before  him.  Quickly  he  stepped  down 
the  pulpit  stairs,  psalm-book  in  hand,  and  singing  as 
he  went,  walked  quietly  to  the  back  door,  and  leaving 
his  book  on  the  window-sill,  passed  out.  The  singing 
went  calmly  on,  for  the  congregation  were  never  sur- 
prised at  anything  their  minister  did. 

The  next  verse  was  nearly  through,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  in  came  Don,  followed  by  Aleck,  looking 
somewhat  disheveled  and  shaken  up,  and  two  or  three 
more.  In  a  few  moments  the  minister  came  in,  took 
his  psalm-book  from  the  window-sill,  and  striking  up 
with  the  congregation,  "Blest  is  the  man  whose 
strength  thou  art,"  marched  up  to  the  pulpit  again, 
with  only  an  added  flash  in  his  blue  eyes  and  a  little 
more  triumphant  swing  to  his  coat-tails  to  indicate 
that  anything  had  taken  place.  But  Murdie  looked 
in  vain  for  Ranald  to  appear,  and  waited,  uncertain 
what  to  do.  He  had  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  minis- 
ter, more  especially  in  his  present  mood.  Instinct- 
ively he  turned  toward  the  minister's  pew,  and  reading 

141 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

the  look  of  anxious  entreaty  from  the  pale  face  there, 
he  waited  till  the  congregation  rose  for  prayer  and 
then  slipped  out,  and  was  seen  no  more  in  church  that 
day. 

On  the  way  home  not  a  word  was  said  about  the 
disturbance.  But  after  the  evening  worship,  when 
the  minister  had  gone  to  his  study  for  a  smoke, 
Hughie,  who  had  heard  the  whole  story  from  Don, 
told  it  to  his  mother  and  Maimie  in  his  most  graphic 
manner. 

"It  was  not  Ranald's  fault,  mother,"  he  declared. 
"You  know  Peter  would  not  let  him  alone,  and  Ran- 
ald hit  him  in  the  nose,  and  served  him  right,  too. 
But  they  made  it  all  up,  and  they  were  just  going  into 
the  church  again,  when  that  Aleck  McRae  pulled  Ran- 
ald back,  and  Ranald  did  not  want  to  fight  at  all,  but 
he  called  Ranald  a  liar,  and  he  could  not  help  it,  but 
just  hit  him." 

"Who  hit  who?"  said  Maimie.  "You're  not 
making  it  very  clear,  Hughie." 

"Why,  Ranald,  of  course,  hit  Aleck,  and  knocked 
him  over,  too,"  said  Hughie,  with  much  satisfaction; 
"and  then  Aleck  — he  is  an  awful  fighter,  you  know — 
jumped  on  Ranald  and  was  pounding  him  just  awful, 
the  great  big  brute,  when  out  came  papa.  He  stepped 
up  and  caught  Aleck  by  the  neck  and  shook  him  just 
like  a  baby,  saying,  all  the  time,  'Would  ye?  I  will 
teach  you  to  fight  on  the  Sabbath  day!  Here!  in 
with  you,  every  one  of  you!'  and  he  threw  him  nearly 
into  the  door,  and  then  they  all  skedaddled  into  the 
church,  I  tell  you,  Don  said.  They  were  pretty  badly 

142 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

scart,  too,  but  Don  did  not  know  what  papa  did  to 
Ranald,  and  he  did  not  know  where  Ranald  went,  but 
he  is  pretty  badly  hurted,  I  am  sure.  That  great  big 
Aleck  McRae  is  old  enough  to  be  his  father.  Wasn't 
it  mean  of  him,  mother?" 

Poor  Hughie  was  almost  in  tears,  and  his  mother, 
who  sat  listening  too  eagerly  to  correct  her  little  boy's 
ethics  or  grammar,  was  as  nearly  overcome  as  he.  She 
wished  she  knew  where  Ranald  was.  He  had  not 
appeared  at  the  evening  Bible  class,  and  Murdie  had 
reported  that  he  could  not  find  him  anywhere. 

She  put  Hughie  to  bed,  and  then  saw  Maimie  to 
her  room.  But  Maimie  was  very  unwilling  to  go  to  bed. 

"Oh,  auntie,"  she  whispered,  as  her  aunt  kissed 
her  good  night,  "I  cannot  go  to  sleep!"  And  then, 
after  a  pause,  she  said,  shyly,  "Do  you  think  he  is 
badly  hurt?" 

Then  the  minister's  wife,  looking  keenly  into  the 
girl's  face,  made  light  of  Ranald's  misfortune. 

"Oh,  he  will  be  all  right,"  she  said,  "as  far  as  his 
hurt  is  concerned.  That  is  the  least  part  of  his 
trouble.  You  need  not  worry  about  that.  Good 
night,  my  dear."  And  Maimie,  relieved  by  her  aunt's 
tone,  said  "good  night"  with  her  heart  at  rest. 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  went  into  the  study,  determined 
to  find  out  what  had  passed  between  her  husband  and 
Ranald.  She  found  him  lying  on  his  couch,  luxuri- 
ating in  the  satisfaction  of  a  good  day's  work  behind 
him,  and  his  first  pipe  nearly  done.  She  at  once 
ventured  upon  the  thing  that  lay  heavy  upon  her 
heart.  She  began  by  telling  all  she  knew  of  the 

»43 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

trouble  from  its  beginning  in  the  church,  and  then 
waited  for  her  husband's  story. 

For  some  moments  he  lay  silently  smoking. 

"Ah,  well,"  he  said,  at  length,  knocking  out  his 
pipe,  "perhaps  I  was  a  little  severe  with  the  lad.  He 
may  not  have  been  so  much  to  blame." 

"Oh,  papa!  What  did  you  do?"  said  his  wife,  in 
an  anxious  voice. 

"Well,"  said  the  minister,  hesitating,  "I  found 
that  the  young  rascal  had  struck  Aleck  McRae  first, 
and  a  very  bad  blow  it  was.  So  I  administered  a 
pretty  severe  rebuke  and  sent  him  home." 

"Oh,  what  a  shame!"  cried  his  wife,  in  indignant 
tears.  "It  was  far  more  the  fault  of  Peter  and  Aleck 
and  the  rest.  Poor  Ranald!" 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  the  minister,  "you  need 
not  fear  for  Ranald.  I  do  not  suppose  he  cares  much. 
Besides,  his  face  was  not  fit  to  be  seen,  so  I  sent  him 
home.  Well,  it — " 

"Yes,"  burst  in  his  wife,  "great,  brutal  fellow,  to 
strike  a  boy  like  that!" 

"Boy?"  said  her  husband.  "Well,  he  may  be,  but 
not  many  men  would  dare  to  face  him."  Then  he 
added,  "I  wish  I  had  known — I  fear  I  spoke — perhaps 
the  boy  may  feel  unjustly  treated.  He  is  as  proud  as 
Lucifer." 

"Oh,  papa!"  said  his  wife,  "what  did  you  say?" 

"Nothing  but  what  was  true.  I  just  told  him  that 
a  boy  who  would  break  the  Lord's  Day  by  fighting, 
and  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  Lord's  house,  when 
Christian  people  were  worshiping  God,  was  acting  like 

144 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

a  savage,  and  was  not  fit  for  the  company  of  decent 
folk." 

To  this  his  wife  made  no  reply,  but  went  out  of 
the  study,  leaving  the  minister  feeling  very  uncomfort- 
able indeed.  But  by  the  end  of  the  second  pipe  he 
began  to  feel  that,  after  all,  Ranald  had  got  no  more 
than  was  good  for  him,  and  that  he  would  be  none  the 
worse  of  it ;  in  which  comforting  conviction  he  went 
to  rest,  and  soon  fell  into  the  sleep  which  is  supposed 
to  be  the  right  of  the  just. 

Not  so  his  wife.  Wearied  though  she  was  with  the 
long  day,  its  excitements  and  its  toils,  sleep  would 
not  come.  Anxious  thoughts  about  the  lad  she  had 
come  to  love  as  if  he  were  her  own  son  or  brother 
kept  crowding  in  upon  her.  The  vision  of  his  fierce, 
dark,  stormy  face  held  her  eyes  awake  and  at  length 
drew  her  from  her  bed.  She  went  into  the  study  and 
fell  upon  her  knees.  The  burden  had  grown  too 
heavy  for  her  to  bear  alone.  She  would  share  it  with 
Him  who  knew  what  it  meant  to  bear  the  sorrows  and 
the  sins  of  others. 

As  she  rose,  she  heard  Fido  bark  and  whine  in  the 
yard  below,  and  going  to  the  window,  she  saw  a  man 
standing  at  the  back  door,  and  Fido  fawning  upon 
him.  Startled,  she  was  about  to  waken  her  husband, 
when  the  man  turned  his  face  so  that  the  moonlight 
fell  upon  it,  and  she  saw  Ranald.  Hastily  she  threw 
on  her  dressing-gown,  put  on  her  warm  bedroom  slip- 
pers and  cloak,  ran  down  to  the  door,  and  in  another 
moment  was  standing  before  him,  holding  him  by  the 
shoulders. 

H5 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

•  "Ranald!"  she  cried,  breathlessly,  "what  is  it?" 

"I  am  going  away,"  he  said,  simply.  "And  I  was 
just  passing  by — and — "  he  could  not  go  on. 

"Oh,  Ranald!"  she  cried,  "I  am  glad  you  came 
this  way.  Now  tell  me  where  you  are  going." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  as  if  she  had  started  a  new 
idea  in  his  mind,  and  then  said,  "I  do  not  know." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Ranald?" 

"Work.     There  is  plenty  to  do.     No  fear  of  that." 

"But  your  father,  Ranald?" 

The  boy  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  then  said,  "He 
will  soon  be  well,  and  he  will  not  be  needing  me,  and 
he  said  I  could  go. ' '  His  voice  broke  with  the  remem- 
brance of  the  parting  with  his  father. 

"And  why  are  you  going,  Ranald?"  she  said,  look- 
ing into  his  eyes. 

Again  the  boy  stood  silent. 

"Why  do  you  go  away  from  your  home  and  your 
father,  and — and — all  of  us  who  love  you?" 

"Indeed,  there  is  no  one,"  he  replied,  bitterly; 
"and  I  am  not  for  decent  people.  I  am  not  for  decent 
people.  I  know  that  well  enough.  There  is  no  one 
that  will  care  much." 

"No  one,  Ranald?"  she  asked,  sadly.  "I 
thought — "  she  paused,  looking  steadily  into  his  face. 

Suddenly  the  boy  turned  to  her,  and  putting  out 
both  his  hands,  burst  forth,  his  voice  coming  in  dry 
sobs:  "Oh,  yes,  yes!  I  do  believe  you.  I  do  believe 
you.  And  that  is  why  I  came  this  way.  I  wanted  to 
see  your  door  again  before  I  went.  Oh,  I  will  never 
forget  you !  Never,  never,  and  I  am  glad  I  am  seeing 

146 


A       SABBATH       DAY'S       WORK 

you,  for  now  you  will  know — how  much — "  The 
boy  was  unable  to  proceed.  His  sobs  were  shaking 
his  whole  frame,  and  to  his  shy  Highland  Scotch 
nature,  words  of  love  and  admiration  were  not  easy. 
"You  will  not  be  sending  me  back  home  again?"  he 
pleaded,  anticipating  her.  "Indeed,  I  cannot  stay  in 
this  place  after  to-day." 

But  the  minister's  wife  kept  her  eyes  steadily  upon 
his  face  without  a  word,  trying  in  vain  to  find  her 
voice,  and  the  right  words  to  say.  She  had  no  need 
of  words,  for  in  her  face,  pale,  wet  with  her  flowing 
tears,  and  illumined  with  her  gray-brown  eyes,  Ran- 
ald read  her  heart. 

"Oh!"  he  cried  again,  "you  are  wanting  me  to 
stay,  and  I  will  be  ashamed  before  them  all,  and  the 
minister,  too.  I  cannot  stay.  I  cannot  stay." 

"And  I  cannot  let  you  go,  Ranald,  my  boy,"  she 
said,  commanding  her  voice  to  speech.  "I  want  you 
to  be  a  brave  man.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  afraid  of 
them." 

"Afraid  of  them!"  said  the  boy,  in  scornful  sur- 
prise. "Not  if  they  were  twice  as  more  and  twice  as 
beeg." 

Mrs.  Murray  saw  her  advantage,  and  followed  it  up. 

"And  the  minister  did  not  know  the  whole  truth, 
Ranald,  and  he  was  sorry  he  spoke  to  you  as  he  did." 

"Did  he  say  that?"  said  Ranald,  in  surprise.  It 
was  to  him,  as  to  any  one  in  that  community,  a  ter- 
rible thing  to  fall  under  the  displeasure  of  the  minister 
and  to  be  disgraced  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Ranald,  and  he  would  be  sorry  if 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

you   should   go   away.      I   am  sure  he  would   blame 
himself." 

This  was  quite  a  new  idea  to  the  boy.  That  the 
minister  should  think  himself  to  be  in  the  wrong  was 
hardly  credible. 

"And  how  glad  we  would  be,"  she  continued, 
earnestly,  "to  see  you  prove  yourself  a  man  before 
them  all." 

Ranald  shook  his  head.  "I  would  rather  go 
away. ' ' 

"Perhaps,  but  it's  braver  to  stay,  and  to  do  your 
work  like  a  man."  And  then,  allowing  him  no  time 
for  words,  she  pictured  to  him  the  selfish,  cowardly 
part  the  man  plays  who  marches  bravely  enough  in 
the  front  ranks  until  the  battle  begins,  but  who  shrinks 
back  and  seeks  an  easy  place  when  the  fight  comes  on, 
till  his  face  fell  before  her  in  shame.  And  then  she 
showed  him  what  she  would  like  him  to  do,  and  what 
she  would  like  him  to  be  in  patience  and  in  courage, 
till  he  stood  once  more  erect  and  steady. 

"Now,  Ranald,"  she  said,  noting  the  effect  of  her 
words  upon  him,  "what  is  it  to  be?" 

"I  will  go  back,"  he  said,  simply;  and  turning 
with  a  single  word  of  farewell,  he  sprang  over  the 
fence  and  disappeared  in  the  woods.  The  minister's 
wife  stood  looking  the  way  he  went  long  after  he  had 
passed  out  of  sight,  and  then,  lifting  her  eyes  to  the 
radiant  sky  with  its  shining  lights,  "He  made  the 
stars  also,"  she  whispered,  and  went  up  to  her  bed 
and  laid  her  down  and  slept  in  peace.  Her  Sabbath 
day's  work  was  done. 

148 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   HOME-COMING   OF  THE   SHANTYMEN 

For  some  weeks  Ranald  was  not  seen  by  any  one 
belonging  to  the  manse.  Hughie  reported  that  he 
was  not  at  church,  nor  at  Bible  class,  and  although 
this  was  not  in  itself  an  extraordinary  thing,  still  Mrs. 
Murray  was  uneasy,  and  Hughie  felt  that  church  was 
a  great  disappointment  when  Ranald  was  not  there. 

In  their  visits  to  Macdonald  Dubh  the  minister  and 
his  wife  never  could  see  Ranald.  His  Aunt  Kirsty 
could  not  understand  or  explain  his  reluctance  to 
attend  the  public  services,  nor  his  unwillingness  to 
appear  in  the  house  on  the  occasion  of  the  minister's 
visits.  "He  is  busy  with  the  fences  and  about  the 
stables  preparing  for  the  spring's  work,"  she  said; 
''but,  indeed,  he  is  very  queer  whatever,  and  I  can- 
not make  him  out  at  all."  Macdonald  Dubh  himself 
said  nothing.  But  the  books  and  magazines  brought 
by  the  minister's  wife  were  always  read.  " Indeed, 
when  once  he  gets  down  to  his  book,"  his  aunt  com- 
plained, "neither  his  bed  nor  his  dinner  will  move 
him." 

The  minister  thought  little  of  the  boy's  "vagaries," 
but  to  his  wife  came  many  an  anxious  thought  about 
Ranald  and  his  doings.  She  was  more  disappointed 
than  she  cared  to  confess,  even  to  herself,  t'hat  the 
boy  seemed  to  be  quite  indifferent  to  the  steadily 

149 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

deepening  interest  in  spiritual  things  that  marked  the 
members  of  her  Bible  class. 

While  she  was  planning  how  to  reach  him  once 
more,  an  event  occurred  which  brought  him  nearer 
to  her  than  he  had  ever  been  before.  As  they  were 
sitting  one  evening  at  tea,  the  door  unexpectedly 
opened,  and  without  announcement,  in  walked  Ran- 
ald, splashed  with  hard  riding,  pale,  and  dazed. 
Without  a  word  of  reply  to  the  greetings  that  met  him 
from  all  at  the  table,  he  went  straight  to  the  minister's 
wife,  handed  her  an  opened  letter,  and  stood  waiting. 
It  was  addressed  to  Ranald  himself,  and  was  the  first 
he  had  ever  received  in  his  life.  It  was  from  Yankee 
Jim,  and  read  as  follows: 

Dear  Ranald — The  Boss  aint  feelin  like  ritin  much  and  the 
rest  of  the  boys  is  all  broke  up,  and  so  he  told  me  to  rite  to  you 
and  to  tell  you  some  purty  bad  news.  I  don't  know  how  to  go 
about  it,  but  the  fact  is,  Mack  Cameron  got  drownded  yesterday 
tryin  to  pull  a  little  fool  of  a  Frenchman  out  of  the  river  just  below 
the  Lachine.  We'd  just  got  through  the  rough  water  and  were 
lyin  nice  and  quiet,  gettin  things  together  again  when  that  ijit 
Frenchman  got  tite  and  got  tryin  some  fool  trick  or  other  walking 
a  timber  stick  and  got  upsot  into  the  wet.  I'd  a  let  him  go,  you 
bet,  but  Mack  cudn't  stand  to  see  him  bobbin  up  and  down  so  he 
ripped  off  and  in  after  him.  He  got  him  too,  but  somehow  the 
varmint  gripped  him  round  the  neck.  They  went  down  but  we 
got  em  out  purty  quick  and  the  Frenchman  come  round  all  right, 
but  somehow  Mack  wouldn't,  choked  appearinly  by  that  tarnel 
little  fool  who  aint  worth  one  of  Mack's  fingers,  and  if  killin  him 
wud  do  any  good,  then  he  wudn't  be  livin  long.  We  are  all  feelin 
purty  bad.  We  are  comin'  home  on  Thursday  by  Cornwall,  eight 
or  ten  of  us.  The  rest  will  go  on  with  the  rafts.  The  Boss  says, 
better  have  rigs  to  meet  us  and  Mack.  That's  all.  I  haint  no 
good  at  weepin',  never  was,  wish  I  cud  somehow,  it  might  ease  off 
a  feller  a  little,  but  tell  you  what,  Ranald,  I  haint  felt  so  queer 
since  I  was  a  boy  lookin  at  my  mother  in  her  coffin.  There  was 

150 


HOME-COMING    OF    SHANTYMEN 

nothin  mean  about  Mack.  He  was  good  to  the  heart.  He  wud  do 
his  work  slick  and  never  a  growl  or  a  groan,  and  when  you  wanted 
a  feller  to  your  back,  Mack  was  there.  I  know  there  aint  no  use 
goin  on  like  this.  All  I  say  is,  ther's  a  purty  big  hole  in  the  world 
for  us  to-night.  Boss  says  you'd  better  tell  the  minister.  He  says 
he's  good  stuff  and  he'll  know  what  to  do  at  Mack's  home.  No 
more  at  present.  Good-bye.  Yours  truely, 

J.  LATHAM. 

The  minister's  wife  began  reading  the  letter,  won- 
dering not  a  little  at  Ranald's  manner,  but  when  she 
came  to  the  words,  "Mack  Cameron  got  drownded," 
she  laid  the  letter  down  with  a  little  cry.  Her  hus- 
band came  quickly  to  her,  took  up  the  letter,  and  read 
it  to  the  end. 

"I  will  go  at  once,"  he  said,  and  rang  the  bell. 
"Tell  Lambert  to  put  Black  in  the  buggy  immedi- 
ately, Jessie,"  he  said,  when  the  maid  appeared.  "Do 
you  think  you  ought  to  go,  my  dear?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  shall  be  ready  in  a  moment;  but,  oh, 
what  can  we  do  or  say?" 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  not  go.  It  will  be  very 
trying,"  said  the  minister. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  must  go.  I  must.  The  poor  mother!'' 
Then  she  turned  to  Ranald  as  the  minister  left  the 
room.  "You  are  going  home,  Ranald,  I  suppose," 
she  said. 

"No,  I  was  thinking  I  would  go  to  tell  the  people. 
Donald  Ross  will  go,  and  the  Campbells,  and  Far- 
quhar  McNaughton's  light  wagon  would  be  best — for 
the — for  Mack.  And  then  I  will  go  round  by  the 
McGregors." 

Ranald  had  been  thinking  things  out  and  making 
his  plans. 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"But  that  will  be  a  long  round  for  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray.  "Could  not  we  go  by  the  Campbells',  and 
they  will  send  word  to  Donald  Ross?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  go,  to  make 
sure  of  the  teams." 

"Very  well,  then.  Good  by,  Ranald,"  said  the 
minister's  wife,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 

But  still  Ranald  lingered.  "It  will  be  hard  on 
Bella  Peter,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  looking  out  of 
the  window. 

"Bella  Peter?     Bella  McGregor?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  embarrassed  and  hesitating. 
"She  was  Mack's — Mack  was  very  fond  of  her,  what- 
ever. ' ' 

"Oh,  Ranald!"  she  cried,  "do  you  say  so?  Are 
you  sure  of  that?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure,"  said  Ranald,  simply.  "The 
boys  in  the  shanty  would  be  teasing  Mack  about  it, 
and  one  day  Mack  told  me  something,  and  I  know 
quite  well." 

"I  will  go  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 

"That  will  be  very  good,"  said  Ranald,  much 
relieved.  "And  I  will  be  going  with  you  that  way." 

As  Mrs.  Murray  left  the  room,  Maimie  came  around 
to  where  Ranald  was  standing  and  said  to  him, 
gently,  "You  knew  him  well,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Ranald,  in  an  indifferent  tone,  as 
if  unwilling  to  talk  with  her  about  it. 

"And  you  were  very  fond  of  him?"  went  on 
Maimie. 

Ranald  caught  the  tremor  in  her  voice  and  looked 
152 


HOME-COMING    OF     SHANTYMEN 

at  her.  "Yes,"  he  said,  with  an  effort.  "He  was 
good  to  me  in  the  camp.  Many's  the  time  he  made 
it  easy  for  me.  He  was  next  to  Macdonald  Bhain 
with  the  ax,  and,  man,  he  was  the  grand  fighter — that 
is,"  he  added,  adopting  the  phrase  of  the  Macdonald 
gang,  "when  it  was  a  plain  necessity."  Then,  for- 
getting himself,  he  began  to  tell  Maimie  how  Big 
Mack  had  borne  himself  in  the  great  fight  a  few 
weeks  before.  But  he  had  hardly  well  begun  when 
suddenly  he  stopped  with  a  groan.  "But  now  he  is 
dead — he  is  dead.  I  will  never  see  him  no  more." 

He  was  realizing  for  the  first  time  his  loss.  Maimie 
came  nearer  him,  and  laying  her  hand  timidly  on  his 
arm,  said,  "I  am  sorry,  Ranald";  and  Ranald  turned 
once  more  and  looked  at  her,  as  if  surprised  that  she 
should  show  such  feeling. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  believe  you  are  sorry." 

Her  big  blue  eyes  filled  suddenly  with  tears. 

"Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  sorry?  Do  you  think 
I  have  no  heart  at  all?"  she  burst  forth,  impetuously. 

"Indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Ranald.  "Why 
should  you  care?  You  do  not  know  him." 

"But  haven't  you  just  told  me  how  splendid  he 
was,  and  how  good  he  was  to  you,  and  how  much  you 
thought  of  him,  and — "  Maimie  checked  her  rush  of 
words  with  a  sudden  blush,  and  then  hurried  on  to 
say,  "Besides,  think  of  his  mother,  and  all  of  them." 

While  Maimie  was  speaking,  Ranald  had  been 
scanning  her  face  as  if  trying  to  make  up  his  mind 
about  her. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  sorry,"  he  said,  slowly,  gazing 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

with  so  searching  a  look  into  her  eyes  that  she  let 
them  fall. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Murray  entered  ready  for 
her  ride. 

"Is  the  pony  come?"  she  asked. 

"Indeed,  it  is  the  slouch  I  am,"  said  Ranald,  and 
he  hurried  off  to  the  stable,  returning  in  a  very  short 
time  with  the  pony  saddled. 

"You  would  not  care  to  go  with  your  uncle, 
Maimie?"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  as  Lambert  drove  up 
Black  in  the  buggy. 

"No,  auntie,  I  think  not,"  said  Maimie.  "I  will 
take  care  of  Hughie  and  the  baby." 

"Good  by,  then,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Murray, 
kissing  her. 

"Good  by,  Ranald,"  said  Maimie,  as  he  turned 
away  to  get  his  colt. 

"Good  by,"  he  said,  awkwardly.  He  felt  like 
lifting  his  cap,  but  hesitated  to  do  anything  so  ex- 
tremely unnatural.  With  the  boys  in  that  country 
such  an  act  of  courtesy  was  regarded  as  a  sign  of 
"pride,"  if  not  of  weakness. 

Their  way  lay  along  the  concession  line  for  a  mile, 
and  then  through  the  woods  by  the  bridle-path  to 
Peter  McGregor's  clearing.  The  green  grass  ran 
everywhere — along  the  roadside,  round  the  great 
stump  roots,  over  the  rough  pasture-fields,  softening 
and  smoothing  wherever  it  went.  The  woods  were 
flushing  purple,  with  just  a  tinge  of  green  from  the 
bursting  buds.  The  balsams  and  spruces  still  stood 
dark  in  the  swamps,  but  the  tamaracks  were  shyly 

»54 


HOME-COMING    OF    SHANTYMEN 

decking  themselves  in  their  exquisite  robes  of  spring, 
and  through  all  the  bush  the  air  was  filled  with  soft 
sounds  and  scents.  In  earth  and  air,  in  field  and 
forest,  life,  the  new  spring  life,  ran  riot.  How 
strangely  impertinent  death  appeared,  and  how  un- 
lovely in  such  a  world  of  life! 

As  they  left  the  concession  road  and  were  about  to 
strike  into  the  woods,  Mrs.  Murray  checked  her  pony, 
and  looking  upon  the  loveliness  about  her,  said,  softly, 
"How  beautiful  it  all  is!" 

There  was  no  response  from  Ranald,  and  Mrs. 
Murray,  glancing  at  his  gloomy  face,  knew  that  his 
heart  was  sore  at  the  thought  of  the  pain  they  were 
bearing  with  them.  She  hesitated  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said,  gently:  "And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth.  And  there  shall  be  no  more  death." 

But  still  Ranald  made  no  reply,  and  they  rode  on 
through  the  bush  in  silence  till  they  came  to  the  clear- 
ing beyond.  As  they  entered  the  brtiti,  Ranald 
checked  his  colt,  and  holding  up  his  hand,  said, 
"Listen!" 

Through  the  quiet  evening  air,  sweet  and  clear  as  a 
silver  bell,  came  the  long,  musical  note  of  the  call  that 
brings  the  cows  home  for  the  milking.  It  was  Bella's 
voice:  "Ko — boss,  ko — boss,  ko — boss!" 

Far  across  the  brfitt  they  could  see  her  standing 
on  a  big  pine  stump  near  the  bars,  calling  to  her  cows 
that  were  slowly  making  toward  her  through  the 
fallen  timber,  pausing  here  and  there  to  crop  an  espe- 
cially rich  mouthful,  and  now  and  then  responding  to 
her  call  with  soft  lowings.  Gently  Bella  chid  them. 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Come,  Blossom,  come  away  now;  you  are  very  lazy. 
Come,  Lily;  what  are  you  waiting  for?  You  slow  old 
poke!"  Then  again  the  long,  musical  note:  "Ko — 
boss,  ko — boss,  ko — boss!" 

Ranald  groaned  aloud,  "Och-hone!  It  will  be  her 
last  glad  hour,"  he  said;  "it  is  a  hard,  hard  thing." 

"Poor  child,  poor  child!"  said  Mrs.  Murray;  "the 
Lord  help  her.  It  will  be  a  cruel  blow." 

"That  it  is,  a  cruel  blow,"  said  Ranald,  bitterly; 
so  bitterly  that  Mrs.  Murray  glanced  at  him  in  sur- 
prise and  saw  his  face  set  in  angry  pain. 

"The  Lord  knows  best,  Ranald,"  she  said,  gravely, 
"and  loves  best,  too." 

"It  will  break  her  heart,  whatever,"  answered 
Ranald,  shortly. 

"He  healeth  the  broken  in  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, softly.  Ranald  made  no  reply,  but  let  the  colt 
take  her  way  through  the  brtitt  toward  the  lane  into 
which  Bella  had  now  got  her  cows.  How  happy  the 
girl  was!  Joy  filled  every  tone  of  her  voice.  And 
why  not?  It  was  the  springtime,  the  time  of  life  and 
love.  Long  winter  was  gone,  and  soon  her  brothers 
would  be  back  from  the  shanties.  "And  Mack,  too," 
she  whispered  to  her  happy  heart. 

"  And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true? 

And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark? 
Ye  jades,  fling  by  your  wheel. 

"  For  there's  nae  luck  aboot  the  hoose, 

There's  nae  luck  ava, 
There's  little  pleesure  in  the  hoose 
When  oor  gude  man's  awa." 
156 


HOME-COMING    OF     SHANTYMEN 

So  she  sang,  not  too  loud ;  for  the  boys  were  at 
the  barn  and  she  would  never  hear  the  end  of  it. 

"Well,  Bella,  you  are  getting  your  cows  home. 
How  are  you,  my  dear?" 

Bella  turned  with  a  scarlet  face  to  meet  the  minis- 
ter's wife,  and  her  blushes  only  became  deeper  when 
she  saw  Ranald,  for  she  felt  quite  certain  that  Ranald 
would  understand  the  meaning  of  her  song. 

"I  will  go  on  with  the  cows,"  said  Ranald,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  and  Mrs.  Murray,  alighting,  gave  him 
her  pony  to  lead. 

Peter  McGregor  was  a  stern  man  to  his  own  family, 
and  to  all  the  world,  with  the  single  exception  of  his 
only  daughter,  Bella.  His  six  boys  he  kept  in  order 
with  a  firm  hand,  and  not  one  of  them  would  venture 
to  take  a  liberty  with  him.  But  Bella  had  no  fear  of 
his  grim  face  and  stern  ways,  and  "just  twiddled  her 
father  round  her  finger,"  as  her  mother  said,  with  a 
great  show  of  impatience.  But,  in  spite  of  all  her 
petting  from  her  big  brothers  and  her  father,  Bella 
remained  quite  unspoiled,  the  light  of  her  home  and 
the  joy  of  her  father's  heart.  It  had  not  escaped  the 
father's  jealous  eye  that  Big  Mack  Cameron  found 
occasion  for  many  a  visit  to  the  boys  on  an  evening 
when  the  day's  work  was  done,  and  that  from  the 
meetings  he  found  his  shortest  way  home  round  by  the 
McGregor's.  At  first  the  old  man  was  very  gruff  with 
him,  and  was  for  sending  him  about  his  business, 
but  his  daughter's  happy  face,  and  the  light  in  her 
eyes,  that  could  mean  only  one  thing,  made  him 
pause,  and  after  a  long  and  sleepless  night,  he  sur- 

'57 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

prised  his  daughter  the  next  morning  with  a  word  of 
gentle  greeting  and  an  unusual  caress,  and  thenceforth 
took  Big  Mack  to  his  heart.  Not  that  any  word  or 
explanation  passed  between  them;  it  had  not  come 
to  that  as  yet ;  but  Big  Mack  felt  the  change,  and  gave 
him  thenceforth  the  obedience  and  affection  of  a 
son. 

The  old  man  was  standing  in  the  yard,  waiting  to 
help  with  the  milking. 

Ranald  drove  the  cows  in,  and  then,  tying  up  the 
horses,  went  straight  to  him. 

"I  bring  bad  news,  Mr.  McGregor,"  he  said, 
anxious  to  get  done  with  his  sad  task.  "There  has 
been  an  accident  on  the  river,  and  Mack  Cameron  is 
drowned." 

"What  do  you  say,  boy?"  said  Peter,  in  a  harsh 
voice. 

"He  was  trying  to  save  a  Frenchman,  and  when 
they  got  him  out  he  was  dead,"  said  Ranald,  hurry- 
ing through  his  tale,  for  he  saw  the  two  figures  coming 
up  the  lane  and  drawing  nearer. 

"Dead!"  echoed  the  old  man.  "Big  Mack!  God 
help  me." 

"And  they  will  be  wanting  a  team,"  continued 
Ranald,  "to  go  to  Cornwall  to-morrow." 

The  old  man  stood  for  a  few  moments,  looking 
stupidly  at  Ranald.  Then,  lifting  his  hat  from  his 
gray  head,  he  said,  brokenly:  "My  poor  girl!  Would 
God  I  had  died  for  him." 

Ranald  turned  away  and  stood  looking  down  the 
lane,  shrinking  from  the  sight  of  the  old  man's  agony. 

158 


HOME-COMING    OF    SHANTYMEN 

Then,  turning  back  to  him,  he  said:  "The  minister's 
wife  is  coming  yonder  with  Bella." 

The  old  man  started,  and  with  a  mighty  effort  com- 
manding himself,  said,  "Now  may  God  help  me!" 
and  went  to  meet  his  daughter. 

Through  the  gloom  of  the  falling  night  Ranald 
could  see  the  frightened  white  face  and  the  staring, 
tearless  eyes.  They  came  quite  near  before  Bella 
caught  sight  of  her  father.  For  a  moment  she  hesi- 
tated, till  the  old  man,  without  a  word,  beckoned  her 
to  him.  With  a  quick  little  run  she  was  in  his  arms, 
where  she  lay  moaning,  as  if  in  sore  bodily  pain. 
Her  father  held  her  close  to  him,  murmuring  over  her 
fond  Gaelic  words,  while  Ranald  and  Mrs.  Murray 
went  over  to  the  horses  and  stood  waiting  there. 

"I  will  go  now  to  Donald  Ross,"  Ranald  said,  in 
a  low  voice,  to  the  minister's  wife.  He  mounted  the 
colt  and  was  riding  off,  when  Peter  called  him  back. 

"The  boys  will  take  the  wagon  to-morrow,"  he 
said. 

"They  will  meet  at  the  Sixteenth  at  daylight," 
replied  Ranald;  and  then  to  Mrs.  Murray  he  said,  "I 
will  come  back  this  way  for  you.  It  will  soon  be 
dark." 

But  Bella,  hearing  him,  cried  to  her:  "Oh,  you 
will  not  go?" 

"Not  if  you  need  me,  Bella,"  said  Mrs.  Murray, 
putting  her  arms  around  her.  "Ranald  will  run  in 
and  tell  them  at  home."  This  Ranald  promised  to 
do,  and  rode  away  on  his  woeful  journey;  and  before 
he  reached  home  that  night,  the  news  had  spread  far 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  wide,  from  house  to  house,  like  a  black  cloud 
over  a  sunny  sky. 

The  home-coming  of  the  men  from  the  shanties 
had  ever  been  a  time  of  rejoicing  in  the  community. 
The  Macdonald  gang  were  especially  welcome,  for 
they  always  came  back  with  honor  and  with  the  re- 
wards of  their  winter's  work.  There  was  always  a 
series  of  welcoming  gatherings  in  the  different  homes 
represented  in  the  gang,  and  there,  in  the  midst  of 
the  admiring  company,  tales  would  be  told  of  the 
deeds  done  and  the  trials  endured,  of  the  adventures 
on  the  river  and  the  wonders  of  the  cities  where  they 
had  been.  All  were  welcome  everywhere,  and  none 
more  than  Big  Mack  Cameron.  Brimming  with  good 
nature,  and  with  a  remarkable  turn  for  stories,  he  was 
the  center  of  every  group  of  young  people  wherever 
he  went;  and  at  the  "bees"  for  logging  or  for  build- 
ing or  for  cradling,  Big  Mack  was  held  in  honor,  for 
he  was  second  in  feats  of  strength  only  to  Macdonald 
Bhain  himself.  It  was  with  no  common  grief  that 
people  heard  the  word  that  they  were  bringing  him 
home  dead. 

At  the  Sixteenth  next  morning,  before  the  break 
of  day,  Ranald  stood  in  the  gloom  waiting  for  the 
coming  of  the  teams.  He  had  been  up  most  of  the 
night  and  he  was  weary  in  body  and  sore  at  heart,  but 
Macdonald  Bhain  had  trusted  him,  and  there  must  be 
no  mistake.  One  by  one  the  teams  arrived.  First 
to  appear  was  Donald  Ross,  the  elder.  For  years  he 
had  given  over  the  driving  of  his  team  to  his  boys, 
but  to-day  he  felt  that  respect  to  the  family  demanded 

1 60 


HOME-COMING    OF     SHANTYMEN 

his  presence  on  such  an  errand  as  this ;  and  besides, 
he  knew  well  that  his  son  Dannie,  Mack's  special 
chum,  would  expect  him  to  so  honor  the  home-com- 
ing of  his  dead  friend.  Peter  McGregor,  fearing  to 
leave  his  daughter  for  that  long  and  lonely  day,  sent 
his  son  John  in  his  place.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
Mack's  father,  Long  John  Cameron,  had  been  per- 
suaded to  remain  with  the  mother  and  to  allow  Murdie 
to  go  in  his  stead. 

The  last  to  arrive  was  Farquhar  McNaughton, 
Kirsty's  Farquhar,  with  his  fine  black  team  and  new 
light  wagon.  To  him  was  to  be  given  the  honor  of 
bearing  the  body  home.  Gravely  they  talked  and 
planned,  and  then  left  all  to  Ranald  to  execute. 

"You  will  see  to  these  things,  Ranald,  my  man," 
said  Donald  Ross,  with  the  air  of  one  giving  solemn 
charge.  "Let  all  things  be  done  decently  and  in 
order." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Ranald,  simply.  But  Farquhar 
McNaughton  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"It  is  a  peety,"  he  said,  "there  is  not  one  with 
more  experience.  He  is  but  a  lad." 

But  Donald  Ross  had  been  much  impressed  with 
Ranald's  capable  manner  the  night  before. 

"Never you  fear,  Farquhar,"  he  replied;  "Ranald 
is  not  one  to  fail  us." 

As  Ranald  stood  watching  the  wagons  rumbling 
down  the  road  and  out  of  sight,  he  felt  as  if  years 
must  have  passed  since  he  had  received  the  letter  that 
had  laid  on  him  the  heavy  burden  of  this  sad  news. 
That  his  uncle,  Macdonald  Bhain,  should  have  sent 

161 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

the  word  to  him  brought  Ranald  a  sense  of  responsi- 
bility that  awakened  the  man  in  him,  and  he  knew  he 
would  feel  himself  a  boy  no  more.  And  with  that 
new  feeling  of  manhood  stirring  within  him,  he  went 
about  his  work  that  day,  omitting  no  detail  in  arrange- 
ment for  the  seemly  conduct  of  the  funeral. 

Night  was  falling  as  the  wagons  rumbled  back 
again  from  Cornwall,  bringing  back  the  shantymen  and 
their  dead  companion.  Up  through  the  Sixteenth, 
where  a  great  company  of  people  stood  silent  and 
with  bared  heads,  the  sad  procession  moved,  past  the 
old  church,  up  through  the  swamp,  and  so  onward  to 
the  home  of  the  dead.  None  of  the  Macdonald  gang 
turned  aside  to  their  homes  till  they  had  given  their 
comrade  over  into  the  keeping  of  his  own  people.  By 
the  time  the  Cameron's  gate  was  reached  the  night 
had  grown  thick  and  black,  and  the  drivers  were  glad 
enough  of  the  cedar  bark  torches  that  Ranald  and 
Don  waved  in  front  of  the  teams  to  light  the  way  up 
the  lane.  In  silence  Donald  Ross,  who  was  leading, 
drove  up  his  team  to  the  little  garden  gate  and  allowed 
the  great  Macdonald  and  Dannie  to  alight. 

At  the  gate  stood  Long  John  Cameron,  silent  and 
self-controlled,  but  with  face  showing  white  and  hag- 
gard in  the  light  of  the  flaring  torches.  Behind  him, 
in  the  shadow,  stood  the  minister.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments they  all  remained  motionless  and  silent.  The 
time  was  too  great  for  words,  and  these  men  knew 
when  it  was  good  to  hold  their  peace.  At  length 
Macdonald  Bhain  broke  the  silence,  saying  in  his  great 
deep  voice,  as  he  bared  his  head:  "Mr.  Cameron,  I 

162 


HOME-COMING    OF     SHANTYMEN 

have  brought  you  back  your  son,  and  God  is  my  wit- 
ness, I  would  his  place  were  mine  this  night." 

"Bring  him  in,  Mr.  Macdonald,"  replied  the 
father,  gravely  and  steadily.  "Bring  him  in.  It  is 
the  Lord;  let  Him  do  what  seemeth  Him  good." 

Then  six  of  the  Macdonald  men  came  forward  from 
the  darkness,  Curly  and  Yankee  leading  the  way,  and 
lifted  the  coffin  from  Farquhar's  wagon,  and  rever- 
ently, with  heads  uncovered,  they  followed  the  torches 
to  the  door.  There  they  stopped  suddenly,  for  as 
they  reached  the  threshold,  there  arose  a  low,  long, 
heart-smitting  cry  from  within.  At  the  sound  of  that 
cry  Ranald  staggered  as  if  struck  by  a  blow,  and  let 
his  torch  fall  to  the  ground.  The  bearers  waited, 
looking  at  each  other  in  fear. 

"Whisht,  Janet,  woman! "said  Long  John,  gravely. 
"Your  son  is  at  the  door." 

"Ah,  indeed,  that  he  is,  that  he  is!  My  son!  My 
son!" 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  with  hands  uplifted  and 
with  tears  streaming  down  her  face.  "Come  in,  Mal- 
colm ;  come  in,  my  boy.  Your  mother  is  waiting  for 
you." 

Then  they  carried  him  in  and  laid  him  in  the 
"room,"  and  retiring  to  the  kitchen,  sat  down  to 
watch  the  night. 

In  half  an  hour  the  father  came  out  and  found 
them  there. 

"You  have  done  what  you  could,  Mr.  Macdonald," 
he  said,  addressing  him  for  all,  "and  I  will  not  be 
unmindful  of  your  kindness.  But  now  you  can  do  no 

163 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

more.  Your  wife  and  your  people  will  be  waiting 
you." 

"And,  please  God,  in  good  time  they  will  be  see- 
ing us.  As  for  me,  I  will  neither  go  to  my  home  nor 
up  into  my  bed,  but  I  will  watch  by  the  man  who  was 
my  faithful  friend  and  companion  till  he  is  laid  away." 
And  in  this  mind  he  and  his  men  remained  firm,  tak- 
ing turns  at  the  watching  all  that  night  and  the  next 
day. 

As  Macdonald  finished  speaking,  the  minister  came 
into  the  kitchen,  bringing  with  him  the  mother  and 
the  children.  The  men  all  rose  to  their  feet,  doing 
respect  to  the  woman  and  to  her  grief.  When  they 
were  seated  again,  the  minister  rose  and  said:  "My 
friends,  this  is  a  night  for  silence  and  not  for  words. 
The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  speaking  in  our  ears.  It 
becomes  us  to  hear,  and  to  submit  ourselves  to  His 
holy  will.  Let  us  pray. " 

As  Ranald  listened  to  the  prayer,  he  could  not 
help  thinking  how  different  it  was  from  those  he  was 
accustomed  to  hear  from  the  pulpit.  Solemn,  simple, 
and  direct,  it  lifted  the  hearts  of  all  present  up  to  the 
throne  of  God,  to  the  place  of  strength  and  of  peace. 
There  was  no  attempt  to  explain  the  "mystery  of  the 
Providence, ' '  but  there  was  a  sublime  trust  that  refused 
to  despair  even  in  the  presence  of  impenetrable  dark- 
ness. 

After  the  minister  had  gone,  Macdonald  Bhain 
took  Ranald  aside  and  asked  him  as  to  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  funeral.  When  Ranald  had  explained 
to  him  every  detail,  Macdonald  laid  his  hand  on  his 

164 


HOME-COMING    OF     SHANTYMEN 

nephew's  shoulder  and  said,  kindly,  "It  is  well  done, 
Ranald.  Now  you  will  be  going  home,  and  in  the 
morning  you  will  see  your  aunt,  and  if  she  will  be 
wishing  to  come  to  the  wake  to-morrow  night,  then 
you  will  bring  her." 

Then   Ranald  went  home,  feeling  well  repaid  for 
his  long  hours  of  anxiety  and  toil. 


'65 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   WAKE 

The  wake  was  an  important  feature  in  the  social 
life  of  the  people  of  Indian  Lands.  In  ancient  days, 
in  the  land  of  their  forefathers,  the  wake  had  been 
deemed  a  dire  necessity  for  the  safeguarding  of  the 
dead,  who  were  supposed  to  be  peculiarly  exposed  to 
the  malicious  attacks  of  evil  spirits.  Hence,  with 
many  lighted  candles,  and  with  much  incantation, 
friends  would  surround  the  body  through  the  perilous 
hours  of  darkness.  It  was  a  weird  and  weary  vigil, 
and  small  wonder  if  it  appeared  necessary  that  the 
courage  and  endurance  of  the  watchers  should  be 
fortified  with  copious  draughts  of  "mountain  dew," 
with  bread  and  cheese  accompaniments.  And  the 
completeness  of  their  trust  in  the  efficacy  of  such 
supports  was  too  often  evidenced  by  the  condition  of 
the  watchers  toward  the  dawn  of  the  morning.  And, 
indeed,  if  the  spirits  were  not  too  fastidious,  and  if 
they  had  so  desired,  they  could  have  easily  flown 
away,  not  only  with  the  "waked,"  but  with  the 
"wakers"  as  well. 

But  those  days  and  those  notions  had  long  passed 
away.  The  wake  still  remained,  but  its  meaning  and 
purpose  had  changed.  No  longer  for  the  guarding  of 
the  dead,  but  for  the  comfort  of  the  living,  the  friends 
gathered  to  the  house  of  mourning  and  watched  the 

166 


THE  WAKE 

weary  hours.  But  Highland  courtesy  forbade  that 
the  custom  of  refreshing  the  watchers  should  be 
allowed  to  die  out,  and  hence,  through  the  night, 
once  and  again,  the  whisky,  bread,  and  cheese  were 
handed  around  by  some  close  friend  of  the  family, 
and  were  then  placed  upon  the  table  for  general  use. 
It  was  not  surprising  that,  where  all  were  free  to  come 
and  welcome  to  stay,  and  where  anything  like  scanti- 
ness in  providing  or  niggardliness  in  serving  would 
be  a  matter  of  family  disgrace,  the  wake  often 
degenerated  into  a  frolic,  if  not  a  debauch.  In 
order  to  check  any  such  tendency,  it  had  been  the 
custom  of  late  years  to  introduce  religious  services, 
begun  by  the  minister  himself  and  continued  by  the 
elders. 

As  the  evening  fell,  a  group  of  elders  stood  by  the 
back  door  of  Long  John  Cameron's  sorrow-stricken 
home,  talking  quietly  over  the  sad  event  and  arrang- 
ing for  the  "exercises"  of  the  night.  At  a  little 
distance  from  them  sat  Yankee,  with  Ranald  beside 
him,  both  silent  and  listening  somewhat  indifferently 
to  the  talk  of  the  others.  Yankee  was  not  in  his  ele- 
ment. He  was  always  welcome  in  the  homes  of  his 
comrades,  for  he  was  ready  with  his  tongue  and  clever 
with  his  fingers,  but  with  the  graver  and  religious  side 
of  their  lives  he  had  little  in  common.  It  was,  per- 
haps, this  feeling  that  drew  him  toward  Macdonald 
Dubh  and  Ranald,  so  that  for  weeks  at  a  time  he 
would  make  their  house  his  home.  He  had  "no  use 
for  wakes,"  as  he  said  himself,  and  had  it  not  been 
that  it  was  one  of  the  gang  that  lay  dead  within, 

167 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

Yankee  would  have  avoided  the  house  until  all  was 
over  and  the  elders  safely  away. 

Of  the  elders,  only  four  were  present  as  yet:  Don- 
ald Ross,  who  was  ever  ready  to  bring  the  light  of 
his  kindly  face  to  cheer  the  hearts  of  the  mourners; 
Straight  Rory,  who  never,  by  any  chance,  allowed 
himself  to  miss  the  solemn  joy  of  leading  the  funeral 
psalm;  Peter  McRae,  who  carried  behind  his  stern 
old  face  a  heart  of  genuine  sympathy;  and  Kenny 
Crubach,  to  whom  attendance  at  funerals  was  at  once 
a  duty  and  a  horror. 

Donald  Ross,  to  whom  all  the  elders  accorded,  in- 
stinctively, the  place  of  leader,  was  arranging  the  order 
of  "the  exercises." 

"Mr.  McCuaig,"  he  said  to  Straight  Rory,  "you 
will  take  charge  of  the  singing.  The  rest  of  us  will, 
in  turn,  give  out  a  psalm  and  read  a  portion  of  Scrip- 
ture with  a  few  suitable  remarks,  and  lead  in  prayer. 
We  will  not  be  forgetting,  brethren,"  said  old  Donald, 
"that  there  will  be  sore  hearts  here  this  night." 

Straight  Rory's  answer  was  a  sigh  so  woeful  and 
so  deep  that  Yankee  looked  over  at  him  and  remarked 
in  an  undertone  to  Ranald,  "He  ain't  so  cheerful  as 
he  might  be.  He  must  feel  awful  inside." 

"It  is  a  sad  and  terrible  day  for  the  Camerons, " 
said  Peter  McRae. 

"Aye,  it  is  sad,  indeed,"  replied  Donald  Ross. 
"He  was  a  good  son  and  they  will  be  missing  him 
bad.  It  is  a  great  loss." 

"Yes,  the  loss  is  great,"  said  Peter,  grimly. 
"  But,  after  all,  that  is  a  small  thing." 

168 


THE  WAKE 

Straight  Rory  sighed  again  even  more  deeply  than 
before.  Donald  Ross  said  nothing. 

"What  does  the  old  duck  mean,  anyhow?"  said 
Yankee  to  Ranald. 

The  boy  made  no  reply.  His  heart  was  sick  with 
horror  at  Peter's  meaning,  which  he  understood  only 
too  well. 

"Aye,"  went  on  Peter,  "it  is  a  terrible,  mysterious 
Providence,  and  a  heavy  warning  to  the  ungodly  and 
careless." 

"He  means  me,  I  guess,"  remarked  Yankee  to 
Ranald. 

"It  will  perhaps  be  not  amiss  to  any  of  us,"  said 
Kenny  Crubach,  sharply. 

"Indeed,  that  is  true,"  said  Donald  Ross,  in  a 
very  humble  voice. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Ross,"  said  Peter,  ignoring  Kenny 
Crubach,  "but  at  times  the  voice  of  Providence  can- 
not be  misunderstood,  and  it  will  not  do  for  the  elders 
of  the  church  to  be  speaking  soft  things  when  the 
Lord  is  speaking  in  judgment  and  wrath." 

Donald  was  silent,  while  Straight  Rory  assented 
with  a  heartrending  "Aye,  aye,"  which  stirred  Yan- 
kee's bile  again. 

"What's  he  talkin'  about?  He  don't  seem  to  be 
usin'  my  language,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  wrathful 
perplexity.  Ranald  was  too  miserable  to  answer,  but 
Kenny  was  ready  with  his  word. 

"Judgment  and  wrath,"  he  echoed,  quickly. 
"The  man  would  require  to  be  very  skillful  whatever 
in  interpreting  the  ways  of  Providence,  and  very  bold 

169 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

to  put  such  a  meaning  into  the  death  of  a  young  man 
such  as  Malcolm  yonder."  The  little  man's  voice 
was  vibrating  with  feeling. 

Then  Yankee  began  to  understand.  "I'll  be  gol- 
blamed  to  a  cinder!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice, 
falling  back  upon  a  combination  that  seemed  more 
suitable  to  the  circumstances.  "They  ain't  sendin' 
him  to  hell,  are  they?"  He  shut  up  the  knife  with 
which  he  had  been  whittling  with  a  sharp  snap,  and 
rising  to  his  feet,  walked  slowly  over  to  the  group  of 
elders. 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  judge  what  is  not  to  be 
seen,"  said  Peter.  "But  we  are  allowed  and  com- 
manded to  discern  the  state  of  the  heart  by  the  fruits." 

"Fruits?"  replied  Kenny,  quickly.  "He  was  a 
good  son  and  brother  and  friend ;  he  was  honest  and 
clean,  and  he  gave  his  life  for  another  at  the  last." 

"Exactly  so,"  said  Peter.  "I  am  not  denying 
much  natural  goodness,  for  indeed  he  was  a  fine  lad ; 
but  I  will  be  looking  for  the  evidence  that  he  was  in  a 
state  of  grace.  I  have  not  heard  of  any,  and  glad 
would  I  be  to  hear  it." 

The  old  man's  emotion  took  the  sharpness  out  of 
Kenny's  speech,  but  he  persisted,  stoutly,  "Goodness 
is  goodness,  Mr.  McRae,  for  all  that." 

"You  will  not  be  holding  the  Armenian  doctrine 
of  works,  Mr.  Campbell?"  said  Peter,  severely. 
"You  would  not  be  pointing  to  good  works  as  a 
ground  of  salvation?" 

Yankee,  who  had  been  following  the  conversation 
intently,  thought  he  saw  meaning  in  it  at  last. 

170 


THE  WAKE 

"If  I  might  take  a  hand,"  he  said,  diffidently,  "I 
might  contribute  somethin'  to  help  you  out." 

Peter  regarded  him  a  little  impatiently.  He  had 
forgotten  the  concrete,  for  the  moment,  in  the  abstract, 
and  was  donning  his  armor  for  a  battle  with  Kenny 
upon  the  "fundamentals."  Hence  he  was  not  too 
well  pleased  with  Yankee's  interruption.  But  Donald 
Ross  gladly  welcomed  the  diversion.  The  subject 
was  to  him  extremely  painful. 

"We  will  be  glad,"  he  said  to  Yankee,  "to  hear 
you,  Mr.  Latham." 

"Well,"  said  Yankee,  slowly,  "from  your  remarks 
I  gathered  that  you  wanted  information  about  the 
doings  of — "  he  jerked  his  head  toward  the  house 
behind  him.  "Now,  I  want  to  say,"  he  continued, 
confidentially,  "you've  come  to  the  right  shop,  for 
I've  ate  and  slept,  I've  worked  and  fought,  I've  lived 
with  him  by  day  and  by  night,  and  right  through  he 
was  the  straightest,  whitest  man  I  ever  seen,  and  I 
won't  except  the  boss  himself."  Yankee  paused  to 
consider  the  effect  of  this  statement,  and  to  allow  its 
full  weight  to  be  appreciated ;  and  then  he  continued : 
"Yes,  sir,  you  may  just  bet  your — you  may  be  right 
well  sure,"  correcting  himself,  "that  you're  safe  in 
givin'  " — here  he  dropped  his  voice,  and  jerked  his 
head  toward  the  house  again — "in  givin'  the  highest 
marks,  full  value,  and  no  discount.  Why, "'he  went 
on,  with  an  enthusiasm  rare  in  him,  "ask  any  man  in 
the  gang,  any  man  on  the  river,  if  they  ever  seen  or 
heard  of  his  doin'  a  mean  or  crooked  thing,  and  if  you 
find  any  feller  who  says  he  did,  bring  him  here,  and, 

171 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

by" — Yankee  remembered  himself  in  time — "and  I 
give  you  my  solemn  word  that  I'll  eat  him,  hat  and 
boots."  Yankee  brought  his  bony  fist  down  with  a 
whack  into  his  hand.  Then  he  relapsed  into  his  lazy 
drawl  again:  "No,  siree,  hoss!  If  it's  doin's  you're 
after,  don't  you  be  slow  in  bankin'  your  little  heap 
on  his  doin's." 

Donald  Ross  grasped  Yankee's  hand  and  shook  it 
hard.  "I  will  be  thanking  you  for  that  word,"  he 
said,  earnestly. 

But  Peter  felt  that  the  cause  of  truth  demanded 
that  he  should  speak  out.  "Mr.  Latham,"  he  said, 
solemnly,  "what  you  have  been  saying  is  very  true, 
no  doubt,  but  if  a  man  is  not  'born  again  he  cannot 
see  the  kingdom  of  God.'  These  are  the  words  of  the 
Lord  himself." 

"Born  again!"  said  Yankee.  "How?  I  don't 
seem  to  get  you.  But  I  guess  the  feller  that  does  the 
right  thing  all  round  has  got  a  purty  good  chance." 

"It  is  not  a  man's  deeds,  we  are  told,"  said  Peter, 
patiently,  "but  his  heart." 

"There  you  are,"  said  Yankee,  warmly,  "right 
again,  and  that's  what  I  always  hold  to.  It's  the 
heart  a  man  carries  round  in  his  inside.  Never  mind 
your  talk,  never  mind  your  actin'  up  for  people  to 
see.  Give  me  the  heart  that  is  warm  and  red,  and 
beats  proper  time,  you  bet.  Say!  you're  all  right." 
Yankee  gazed  admiringly  at  the  perplexed  and  hope- 
less Peter. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  remembering  what  the 
Apostle  Paul  said,  Mr.  Latham,"  said  Peter,  deter- 

172 


THE  WAKE 

mined  to  deal  faithfully  with  Yankee.  "  'By  the 
deeds  of  the  law  shall  no  flesh  be  justified.'  ' 

It  was  now  Yankee's  turn  to  gaze  helplessly  at 
Peter.  "I  guess  you  have  dropped  me  again,"  he 
said,  slowly. 

"Man,"  said  Peter,  with  a  touch  of  severity,  "you 
will  need  to  be  more  faithful  with  the  Word  of  God. 
The  Scriptures  plainly  declare,  Mr.  Latham,  that  it  is 
impossible  for  a  man  to  be  saved  in  his  natural  state." 

Yankee  looked  blank  at  this. 

"The  prophet  says  that  the  plowing  and  sowing, 
the  very  prayers,  of  the  wicked  are  an  abomination 
to  the  Lord." 

"Why,  now  you're  talkin',  but  look  here."  Yan- 
kee lowered  his  tone.  "Look  here,  you  wouldn't  go 
for  to  call" — here  again  he  jerked  his  head  toward 
the  house — "wicked,  would  you?  Fur  if  you  do, 
why,  there  ain't  any  more  conversation  between  you 
and  me." 

Yankee  was  terribly  in  earnest. 

"  'There  is  none  righteous,  no,  not  one,'  "'  quoted 
Peter,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  forces  himself  to  an 
unpleasant  duty. 

"That's  so,  I  guess,"  said  Yankee,  meditatively, 
"but  it  depends  some  on  what  you  mean.  I  don't 
set  myself  up  for  any  copy-book  head-line,  but  as 
men  go — men,  say,  just  like  you  here — I'd  put — I'd 
put  him  alongside,  wouldn't  you?  You  expect  to  get 
through  yourself,  I  judge?" 

This  was  turning  the  tables  somewhat  sharply  upon 
Peter,  but  Yankee's  keen,  wide-open  eyes  were  upon 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

him,  and  his  intensely  earnest  manner  demanded  an 
answer. 

"  Indeed, ~it  it  will  be  so,  it  will  not  be  for  any 
merit  of  my  own,  but  only  because  of  the  mercy  of 
the  Lord  in  Christ  Jesus."  Peter's  tone  was  sincerely 
humble. 

"Guess  you're  all  right,"  said  Yankee,  encourag- 
ingly; "and  as  for — as  for — him — don't  you  worry 
about  that.  You  may  be  dead  sure  about  his  case." 

But  Peter  only  shook  his  head  hopelessly.  "You 
are  sorely  in  need  of  instruction,  Mr.  Latham,"  he 
said,  sadly.  "We  cannot  listen  to  our  hearts  in  this 
matter.  We  must  do  honor  to  the  justice  of  God, 
and  the  word  is  clear,  'Ye  must  be  born  again.' 
Nothing  else  avails."  Peter's  tone  was  final. 

Then  Yankee  drew  a  little  nearer  to  him,  as  if 
settling  down  to  work. 

"Now  look  here.  You  let  me  talk  awhile.  I  ain't 
up  in  your  side  of  the  business,  but  I  guess  we  are 
tryin'  to  make  the  same  point.  Now  supposin'  you 
was  in  for  a  hoss  race,  which  I  hope  ain't  no  offense, 
seein'  it  ain't  likely  but  suppose,  and  to  take  first 
money  you  had  to  perdoose  a  two-fifteen  gait.  'Purty 
good  lick,'  says  you;  'now  where  will  I  get  the  nag?' 
Then  you  sets  down  and  thinks,  and,  says  you,  'By 
gum,'  which  of  course  you  wouldn't,  but  supposin' 
says  you,  'a  Blue  Grass  bred  is  the  hoss  for  that 
gait' ;  and  you  begin  to  inquire  around,  but  there  ain't 
no  Blue  Grass  bred  stock  in  the  country,  and  that 
race  is  creepin'  up  close.  One  day,  just  when  you 
was  beginnin'  to  figure  on  takin'  the  dust  to  the  hull 

174 


THE  WAKE 

field,  you  sees  a  colt  comin'  along  the  road  hittin'  up 
a  purty  slick  gait.  'Hello,'  says  you,  'that  looks 
likely,'  and  you  begin  to  negotiate,  and  you  finds  out 
that  colt's  all  right  and  her  time's  two-ten.  Then 
you  begin  to  talk  about  the  weather  and  the  crops 
until  you  finds  out  the  price,  and  you  offer  him  half 
money.  Then,  when  you  have  fetched  him  down  to 
the  right  figure,  you  pulls  out  your  wad,  thinkin'  how 
that  colt  will  make  the  rest  look  like  a  line  of  fence- 
posts.  'But  hold  on,'  says  you,  'is  this  here  colt 
Blue  Grass  bred?'  'Blue  Grass!  Not  much.  This 
here's  Grey  Eagle  stock,  North  Virginny,'  says  he. 
'Don't  want  her,'  says  you.  'What's  the  matter 
with  the  colt?'  says  he.  'Nothin',  only  she  ain't 
Blue  Grass.  Got  to  be  Blue  Grass.'  'But  she's  got 
the  gait,  ain't  she?'  'Yes,  the  gait's  all  right,  action 
fine,  good-looking,  too,  nothing  wrong,  but  she  ain't 
Blue  Grass  bred.'  And  so  you  lose  your  race.  Now 
what  kind  of  a  name  would  you  call  yourself?" 

Peter  saw  Yankee's  point,  but  he  only  shook  his 
head  more  hopelessly  than  before,  and  turned  to  enter 
the  house,  followed  by  Straight  Rory,  still  sighing 
deeply,  and  old  Donald  Ross.  But  Kenny  remained 
a  moment  behind  the  others,  and  offering  his  hand  to 
Yankee,  said:  "You  are  a  right  man,  and  I  will  be 
proud  to  know  you  better." 

Yankee  turned  a  puzzled  face  to  Kenny.  "I  say," 
he  inquired,  in  an  amazed  voice,  "do  you  think  he 
didn't  catch  on  to  me?" 

Kenny  nodded.     "Yes,  he  understood  your  point." 

"But  look  here,"  said  Yankee,  "they  don't  hold 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

that — that  he  is — "  Yankee  paused.  The  thought 
was  too  horrible,  and  these  men  were  experts,  and 
were  supposed  to  know. 

"It's  hard  to  say,"  said  Kenny,  diplomatically. 

"See  here,"  said  Yankee,  facing  Kenny  squarely, 
"you're  a  purty  level-headed  man,  and  you're  up  in 
this  business.  Do  you  think  with  them?  No  mon- 
keying. Straight  talk  now."  Yankee  was  in  no 
mood  to  be  trifled  with.  He  was  in  such  deadly 
earnest  that  he  had  forgotten  all  about  Ranald,  who 
was  now  standing  behind  him,  waiting,  with  white  face 
and  parted  lips,  for  Kenny's  answer. 

"Whisht!"  said  Kenny,  pointing  into  the  kitchen 
behind.  Yankee  looked  and  saw  Bella  Peter  and  her 
father  entering.  But  Ranald  was  determined  to  know 
Kenny's  opinion. 

"Mr.  Campbell,"  he  whispered,  eagerly,  and  for- 
getting the  respect  due  to  an  elder,  he  grasped  Kenny's 
arm,  "do  you  think  with  them?" 

"That  I  do  not,"  said  Kenny,  emphatically,  and 
Yankee,  at  that  word,  struck  his  hand  into  Kenny's 
palm  with  a  loud  smack. 

"I  knew  blamed  well  you  were  not  any  such  dumb 
fool,"  he  said,  softening  his  speech  in  deference  to 
Kenny's  office  and  the  surrounding  circumstances. 
So  saying,  he  went  away  to  the  stable,  and  when 
Ranald  and  his  uncle,  Macdonald  Bhain,  followed  a 
little  later  to  put  up  Peter  McGregor's  team,  they 
heard  Yankee  inside,  swearing  with  a  fluency  and 
vigor  quite  unusual  with  him. 

"Whisht,  man!"  said  Macdonald  Bhain,  sternly. 
176 


THE  WAKE 

"This  is  no  place  or  time  to  be  using  such  language. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you,  anyway?" 

But  Macdonald  could  get  no  satisfaction  out  of 
him,  and  he  said  to  his  nephew,  "What  is  it,  Ranald?" 

It  is  the  elders,  Peter  McRae  and  Straight  Rory," 
said  Ranald,  sullenly.  "They  were  saying  that  Mack 
was — that  Mack  was — " 

"Look  here,  boss,"  interrupted  Yankee,  "I  ain't 
well  up  in  Scriptures,  and  don't  know  much  about 
these  things,  and  them  elders  do,  and  they  say — some 
of  them,  anyway — are  sending  Mack  to  hell.  Now,  I 
guess  you're  just  as  well  up  as  they  are  in  this  busi- 
ness, and  I  want  your  solemn  opinion."  Yankee's 
face  was  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  glaring  like  a  wild 
beast's.  "What  I  say  is,"  he  went  on,  "if  a  feller 
like  Mack  goes  to  hell,  then  there  ain't  any.  At  least 
none  to  scare  me.  Where  Mack  is  will  be  good 
enough  for  me.  What  do  you  say,  boss?" 

"Be  quiet,  man,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain,  gravely, 
but  kindly.  "Do  you  not  know  you  are  near  to 
blasphemy  there?  But  I  forgive  you  for  the  sore 
heart  you  have ;  and  about  poor  Mack  yonder,  no  one 
will  be  able  to  say  for  certain.  I  am  a  poor  sinner, 
and  the  only  claim  I  have  to  God's  mercy  is  the  claim 
of  a  poor  sinner.  But  I  will  dare  to  say  that  I  have 
hope  in  the  Lord  for  myself,  and  I  will  say  that  I 
have  a  great  deal  more  for  Mack." 

"I  guess  that  settles  it  all  right,  then,"  said  Yan- 
kee, drawing  a  big  breath  of  content  and  biting  off  a 
huge  chew  from  his  plug.  "But  what  the  blank 
blank-"  he  went  on,  savagely,  "do  these  fellers  mean, 

177 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

stirring  up  a  man's  feelin's  like  that?  Seem  to  be  not 
a  bad  sort,  either,"  he  added,  meditatively. 

"Indeed,  they  are  good  men,"  said  Macdonald 
Bhain,  "but  they  will  not  be  knowing  Mack  as  I  knew 
him.  He  never  made  any  profession  at  all,  but  he 
had  the  root  of  the  matter  in  him." 

Ranald  felt  as  if  he  had  wakened  out  of  a  terrible 
nightmare,  and  followed  his  uncle  into  the  house,  with 
a  happier  heart  than  he  had  known  since  he  had 
received  Yankee's  letter. 

As  they  entered  the  room  where  the  people  were 
gathered,  Donald  Ross  was  reading  the  hundred  and 
third  psalm,  and  the  words  of  love  and  pity  and  sym- 
pathy were  dropping  from  his  kindly  lips  like  healing 
balm  upon  the  mourning  hearts,  and  as  they  rose  and 
fell  upon  the  cadences  of  "Coleshill,"  the  tune 
Straight  Rory  always  chose  for  this  psalm,  the  healing 
sank  down  into  all  the  sore  places,  and  the  peace  that 
passeth  understanding  began  to  take  possession  of  them. 

Softly  and  sweetly  they  sang,  the  old  women  sway- 
ing with  the  music : 

"  For,  as  the  heaven  in  its  height 

The  earth  surmounteth  far, 
So  great  to  those  that  do  him  fear, 
His  tender  mercies  are." 

When  they  reached  that  verse,  the  mother  took  up 
the  song  and  went  bravely  on  through  the  words  of 
the  following  verse : 

"  As  far  as  east  is  distant  from 

The  west,  so  far  hath  he 
From  us  removed,  in  his  love, 
All  our  iniquity." 
178 


THE  WAKE 

As  she  sang  the  last  words  her  hand  stole  over  to 
Bella,  who  sat  beside  her  quiet  but  tearless,  looking 
far  away.  But  when  the  next  words  rose  on  the  dear 
old  minor  strains, 

"  Such  pity  as  a  father  hath 
Unto  his  children  dear," 

Bella's  lip  began  to  tremble,  and  two  big  tears  ran 
down  her  pale  cheeks,  and  one  could  see  that  the  sore 
pain  in  her  heart  had  been  a  little  eased. 

After  Donald  Ross  had  finished  his  part  of  the 
' 'exercises,"  he  called  upon  Kenny  Crubach,  who 
read  briefly,  and  without  comment,  the  exquisite 
Scottish  paraphrase  of  Luther's  "little  gospel": 

"  Behold  the  amazing  gift  of  love 

The  Father  hath  bestowed 

On  us,  the  sinful  sons  of  men. 

To  call  us  sons  of  God — " 

and  so  on  to  the  end. 

All  this  time  Peter  McRae,  the  man  of  iron,  had 
been  sitting  with  hardening  face,  his  eyes  burning  in 
his  head  like  glowing  coals;  and  when  Donald  Ross 
called  upon  him  for  "some  words  of  exhortation  and 
comfort  suitable  to  the  occasion,"  without  haste  and 
without  hesitation  the  old  man  rose,  and  trembling 
with  excitement  and  emotion,  he  began  abruptly: 
"An  evil  spirit  has  been  whispering  to  me,  as  to  the 
prophet  of  old,  'Speak  that  which  is  good,'  but  the 
Lord  hath  delivered  me  from  mine  enemy,  and  my 
answer  is,  'As  the  Lord  liveth,  what  the  Lord  said 
unto  me,  that  will  I  speak* ;  and  it  is  not  easy." 

As  the  old  man  paused,  a  visible  terror  fell  upon 
179 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

all  the  company  assembled.  The  poor  mother  sat 
looking  at  him  with  the  look  of  one  shrinking  from  a 
blow,  while  Bella  Peter's  face  expressed  only  startled 
fear. 

"And  this  is  the  word  of  the  Lord  this  night  to 
me,"  the  elder  went  on,  his  voice  losing  its  tremor 
and  ringing  out  strong  and  clear:  "  'There  is  none 
righteous,  no,  not  one,  for  all  have  sinned  and  come 
short  of  the  glory  of  God.  He  that  believeth  shall 
be  saved,  and  he  that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned.' 
That  is  my  message,  and  it  is  laid  upon  me  as  a  sore 
burden  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Lord  in  this  solemn 
Providence,  and  to  warn  one  and  all  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come." 

He  paused  long,  while  men  could  hear  their  hearts 
beat.  Then,  raising  his  voice,  he  cried  aloud:  "Woe 
is  me!  Alas!  it  is  a  grievous  burden.  The  Lord 
pity  us  all,  and  give  grace  to  this  stricken  family  to 
kiss  the  rod  that  smites." 

At  this  word  the  old  man's  voice  suddenly  broke, 
and  he  sat  down  amid  an  awful  silence.  No  one  could 
misunderstand  his  meaning.  As  the  awful  horror  of 
it  gradually  made  its  way  into  her  mind,  Mrs.  Cameron 
threw  up  her  apron  over  her  head  and  rocked  in  an 
agony  of  sobs,  while  Long  John  sat  with  face  white 
and  rigid.  Bella  Peter,  who  had  been  gazing  with  a 
fascinated  stare  upon  the  old  elder's  face  while  he  was 
speaking  his  terrible  words,  startled  by  Mrs.  Camer- 
on's sobs,  suddenly  looked  wildly  about  as  if  for  help, 
and  then,  with  a  wild  cry,  fled  toward  the  door.  But 
before  she  had  reached  it  a  strong  hand  caught  her 

i  So 


THE  WAKE 

and  a  great  voice,  deep  and  tender,  commanded  her: 
"Wait,  lassie,  sit  down  here  a  meenute. "  It  was 
Macdonald  Bhain.  lie  stood  a  short  space  silent 
before  the  people,  then,  in  a  voice  low,  deep,  and 
thrilling,  he  began:  "You  have  been  hearing  the  word 
of  the  Lord  through  the  lips  of  his  servant,  and  I  am 
not  saying  but  it  is  the  true  word ;  but  I  believe  that 
the  Lord  will  be  speaking  by  different  voices,  and 
although  I  hev  not  the  gift,  yet  it  is  laid  upon  me  to 
declare  what  is  in  my  heart,  and  a  sore  heart  it  is,  and 
sore  hearts  hev  we  all.  But  I  will  be  thinking  of  a 
fery  joyful  thing,  and  that  is  that  'He  came  to  call, 
not  the  righteous,  but  sinners,'  and  that  in  His  day 
many  sinners  came  about  Him  and  not  one  would  He 
turn  away.  And  I  will  be  remembering  a  fery  great 
sinner  who  cried  out  in  his  dying  hour,  'Lord,  remem- 
ber me,'  and  not  in  vain.  And  I'm  thinking  that  the 
Lord  will  be  making  it  easy  for  men  to  be  saved,  and 
not  hard,  for  He  was  that  anxious  about  it  that  He 
gave  up  His  own  life.  But  it  is  not  given  me  to  argue, 
only  to  tell  you  what  I  know  about  the  lad  who  is 
lying  yonder  silent.  It  will  be  three  years  since  he 
will  be  coming  on  the  shanties  with  me,  and  from  the 
day  that  he  left  his  mother's  door,  till  he  came  back 
again,  never  once  did  he  fail  me  in  his  duty  in  the 
camp,  or  on  the  river,  or  in  the  town,  where  it  was 
fery  easy  to  be  forgetting.  And  the  boys  would  be 
telling  me  of  the  times  that  he  would  be  keeping  them 
out  of  those  places.  And  it  is  not  soon  that  Dannie 
Ross  will  be  forgetting  who  it  was  that  took  him  back 
from  the  camp  when  the  disease  was  upon  him  and  all 

181 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

were  afraid  to  go  near  him,  and  for  seex  weeks,  by 
day  and  by  night,  watched  by  him  and  was  not  think- 
ing of  himself  at  all.  And  sure  am  I  that  the  lessons 
he  would  be  hearing  from  his  mother  and  in  the  Bible 
class  and  in  the  church  were  not  lost  on  him  whatever. 
For  on  the  river,  when  the  water  was  quiet  and  I 
would  be  lying  in'  the  tent  reading,  it  is  often  that 
Mack  Cameron  would  come  in  and  listen  to  the  Word. 
Aye,  he  was  a  good  lad" — the  great  voice  shook  a 
little — "he  would  not  be  thinking  of  himself,  and 
at  the  last,  it  was  for  another  man  he  gave  his 
life." 

Macdonald  stood  for  a  few  moments  silent,  his  face 
working  while  he  struggled  with  himself.  And  then 
all  at  once  he  grew  calm,  and  throwing  back  his  head, 
he  looked  through  the  door,  and  pointing  into  the 
darkness,  said:  "And  yonder  is  the  lad,  and  with  him 
a  great  company,  and  his  face  is  smiling,  and,  oh !  it 
is  a  good  land,  a  good  land!"  His  voice  dropped  to 
a  whisper,  and  he  sank  into  his  seat. 

"God  preserve  us!"  Kenny  Crubach  ejaculated; 
but  old  Donald  Ross  rose  and  said,  "Let  us  call  upon 
the  name  of  the  Lord."  From  his  prayer  it  was  quite 
evident  that  for  him  at  least  all  doubts  and  fears  as  to 
poor  Mack's  state  were  removed.  And  even  Peter 
McRae,  subdued  not  so  much  by  any  argument  of 
Macdonald  Bhain's  as  by  his  rapt  vision,  followed  old 
Donald's  prayer  with  broken  words  of  hope  and 
thanksgiving;  and  it  was  Peter  who  was  early  at  the 
manse  next  morning  to  repeat  to  the  minister  the 
things  he  had  seen  and  heard  the  night  before.  And 

182 


THE  WAKE 

all  next  day,  where  there  had  been  the  horror  of  un- 
namable  fear,  hope  and  peace  prevailed. 

The  service  was  held  under  the  trees,  and  while 
the  mother  and  Bella  Peter  sat  softly  weeping,  there 
was  no  bitterness  in  their  tears,  for  the  sermon 
breathed  of  the  immortal  hope,  and  the  hearts  of  all 
were  comforted.  There  was  no  parade  of  grief,  but 
after  the  sermon  was  over  the  people  filed  quietly 
through  the  room  to  take  the  last  look,  and  then  the 
family,  with  Bella  and  her  father,  were  left  alone  a  few 
moments  with  their  dead,  while  the  Macdonald  men 
kept  guard  at  the  door  till  the  time  for  "the  lifting" 
would  come. 

After  Long  John  passed  out,  followed  by  the  fam- 
ily, Macdonald  Bhain  entered  the  room,  closed  the  lid 
down  upon  the  dead  face,  and  gave  the  command  to 
bear  him  forth. 

So,  with  solemn  dignity,  as  befitted  them,  they 
carried  Big  Mack  from  his  home  to  Farquhar  Mc- 
Naughton's  light  wagon.  Along  the  concession  road, 
past  the  new  church,  through  the  swamp,  and  on  to 
the  old  churchyard  the  long  procession  slowly  moved. 
There  was  no  unseemly  haste,  and  by  the  time  the 
last  words  were  spoken,  and  the  mound  decently 
rounded,  the  long  shadows  from  the  woods  lay  far 
across  the  fields.  Quietly  the  people  went  their  ways 
homeward,  back  to  their  life  and  work,  but  for  many 
days  they  carried  with  them  the  memory  of  those 
funeral  scenes.  And  Ranald,  though  he  came  back 
from  Big  Mack's  grave  troubled  with  questions  that 
refused  to  be  answered,  still  carried  with  him  a  heart 

183 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

healed  of  the  pain  that  had  torn  it  these  last  days. 
He  believed  it  was  well  with  his  friend,  but  about 
many  things  he  was  sorely  perplexed,  and  it  was  this 
that  brought  him  again  to  the  minister's  wife. 


184 


CHAPTER   XII 

SEED-TIME 

The  day  after  Big  Mack's  funeral,  Ranald  was  busy 
polishing  Lizette's  glossy  skin,  before  the  stable  door. 
This  was  his  favorite  remedy  for  gloomy  thoughts, 
and  Ranald  was  full  of  gloomy  thoughts  to-day.  His 
father,  though  going  about  the  house,  was  still  weak, 
and  worse  than  all,  was  fretting  in  his  weakness. 
He  was  oppressed  with  the  terrible  fear  that  he  would 
never  again  be  able  to  do  a  man's  work,  and  Ranald 
knew  from  the  dark  look  in  his  father's  face  that 
day  and  night  the  desire  for  vengeance  was  gnawing  at 
his  heart,  and  Ranald  also  knew  something  of  the  bit- 
terness of  this  desire  from  the  fierce  longing  that  lay 
deep  in  his  own.  Some  day,  when  his  fingers  would 
be  feeling  for  LeNoir's  throat,  he  would  drink  long 
and  fully  that  sweet  draught  of  vengeance.  He 
knew,  too,  that  it  added  to  the  bitterness  in  his 
father's  heart  to  know  that,  in  the  spring's  work  that 
every  warm  day  was  bringing  nearer,  he  could  take 
no  part;  and  that  was  partly  the  cause  of  Ranald's 
gloom.  With  the  slow-moving  oxen,  he  could  hardly 
hope  to  get  the  seed  in  in  time,  and  they  needed  the 
crop  this  year  if  ever  they  did,  for  last  year's  interest 
on  the  mortgage  was  still  unpaid  and  the  next  install- 
ment was  nearly  due. 

As  he  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  upon 
185 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

Lizette's  satin  skin,  Yankee  drove  up  to  the  yard  with 
his  Fox  horse  and  buckboard.  His  box  was  strapped 
on  behind,  and  his  blankets,  rolled  up  in  a  bundle, 
filled  the  seat  beside  him. 

"Mornin',"  he  called  to  Ranald.  "Purty  fine 
shine,  that,  and  purty  fine  mare,  all  round,"  he  con- 
tinued, walking  about  Lizette  and  noting  admiringly 
her  beautiful  proportions. 

"Purty  fine  beast,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  running 
his  hands  down  her  legs.  "Guess  you  wouldn't  care 
to  part  with  that  mare?" 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  shortly;  but  as  he  spoke  his 
heart  sank  within  him. 

"Ought  to  fetch  a  fairly  good  figure,"  continued 
Yankee,  meditatively.  "Le's  see.  She's  from  La 
Roque's  Lizette,  ain't  she?  Ought  to  have  some 
speed."  He  untied  Lizette's  halter.  "Take  her 
down  in  the  yard  yonder,"  he  said  to  Ranald. 

Ranald  threw  the  halter  over  Lizette's  neck,  sprang 
on  her  back,  and  sent  her  down  the  lane  at  a  good 
smart  pace.  At  the  bottom  of  the  lane  he  wheeled 
her,  and  riding  low  upon  her  neck,  came  back  to  the 
barn  like  a  whirlwind. 

"By  jings!"  exclaimed  Yankee,  surprised  out  of 
his  lazy  drawl;  "she's  got  it,  you  bet  your  last  brick. 
See  here,  boy,  there's  money  into  that  animal. 
Thought  I  would  like  to  have  her  for  my  buckboard, 
but  I  have  got  an  onfortunit  conscience  that  won't  let 
me  do  up  any  partner,  so  I  guess  I  can't  make  any  offer." 

Ranald  stood  beside  Lizette,  his  arm  thrown  over 
her  beautiful  neck,  and  his  hand  fondling  her  gently 

186 


SEED  TIME 

about  the  ears.  "I  will  not  sell  her."  His  voice  was 
low  and  fierce,  and  all  the  more  so  because  he  knew 
that  was  just  what  he  would  do,  and  his  heart  was 
sick  with  the  pain  of  the  thought. 

"I  say,"  said  Yankee,  suddenly,  "cudn't  bunk  me 
in  your  loft,  cud  you !  Can't  stand  the  town.  Too 
close." 

The  confining  limitations  of  the  Twentieth,  that 
metropolitan  center  of  some  dozen  buildings,  includ- 
ing the  sawmill  and  blacksmith  shop,  were  too  trying 
for  Yankee's  nervous  system. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Ranald,  heartily.  ''We  will 
be  very  glad  to  have  you,  and  it  will  be  the  very  best 
thing  for  father." 

"S'pose  old  Fox  cud  nibble  round  the  brdtt," 
continued  Yankee,  nodding  his  head  toward  his  sorrel 
horse.  "Don't  think  I  will  do  much  drivin'  machine 
business.  Rather  slow."  Yankee  spent  the  summer 
months  selling  sewing-machines  and  new  patent 
churns. 

"There's  plenty  of  pasture,"  said  Ranald,  "and 
Fox  will  soon  make  friends  with  Lizette.  She  is  very 
kind,  whatever." 

"Ain't  ever  hitched  her,  have  you?"  said  Yankee. 

"No." 

"Well,  might  hitch  her  up  some  day.  Guess  you 
wudn't  hurt  the  buckboard." 

"Not  likely,"  said  Ranald,  looking  at  the  old, 
ramshackle  affair. 

"Used  to  drive  some  myself,"  said  Yankee.  But 
to  this  idea  Ranald  did  not  take  kindly. 

187 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

Yankee  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  down  the 
lane  and  over  the  fields,  and  then,  turning  to  Ranald, 
said,  "Guess  it's  about  ready  to  begin  plowin'.  Got 
quite  a  lot  of  it  to  do,  too,  ain't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  "I  was  thinking  I  would  be 
beginning  to-morrow." 

"Purty  slow  business  with  the  oxen.  How  would 
it  do  to  hitch  up  Lizette  and  old  Fox  yonder?" 

Then  Ranald  understood  the  purpose  of  Yankee's 
visit. 

"I  would  be  very  glad,"  said  Ranald,  a  great  load 
lifting  from  his  heart.  "I  was  afraid  of  the  work  with 
only  the  oxen."  And  then,  after  a  pause,  he  added, 
"What  did  you  mean  about  buying  Lizette?"  He 
was  anxious  to  have  that  point  settled. 

"I  said  what  I  meant,"  answered  Yankee.  "I 
thought  perhaps  you  would  rather  have  the  money 
than  the  colt;  but  I  tell  you  what,  I  hain't  got  money 
enough  to  put  into  that  bird,  and  don't  you  talk  sell- 
ing to  any  one  till  we  see  her  gait  hitched  up.  But  I 
guess  a  little  of  the  plow  won't  hurt  for  a  few  weeks 
or  so." 

Next  day  Lizette  left  behind  her  forever  the  free, 
happy  days  of  colthood.  At  first  Ranald  was  unwill- 
ing to  trust  her  to  any  other  hands  than  his  own,  but 
when  he  saw  how  skillfully  and  gently  Yankee  handled 
her,  soothing  her  while  he  harnessed  and  hitched  her 
up,  he  recognized  that  she  was  safer  with  Yankee 
than  with  himself,  and  allowed  him  to  have  the  reins. 

They  spent  the  morning  driving  up  and  down  the 
lane  with  Lizette  and  Fox  hitched  to  the  stone-boat. 

188 


SEED-TIME 

The  colt  had  been  kindly  treated  from  her  earliest 
days,  and  consequently  knew  nothing  of  fear.  She 
stepped  daintily  beside  old  Fox,  fretting  and  chafing 
in  the  harness,  but  without  thought  of  any  violent 
objection.  In  the  afternoon  the  colt  was  put  through 
her  morning  experience,  with  the  variation  that  the 
stone-boat  was  piled  up  with  a  fairly  heavy  load  of 
earth  and  stone.  And  about  noon  the  day  following, 
Lizette  was  turning  her  furrow  with  all  the  steadiness 
of  a.  horse  twice  her  age. 

Before  two  weeks  were  over,  Yankee,  with  the 
horses,  and  Ranald,  with  the  oxen,  had  finished  the 
plowing,  and  in  another  ten  days  the  fields  lay  smooth 
and  black,  with  the  seed  harrowed  safely  in,  waiting 
for  the  rain. 

Yankee's  visit  had  been  a  godsend,  not  only  to 
Ranald  with  his  work,  but  also  to  Macdonald  Dubh. 
He  would  talk  to  the  grim,  silent  man  by  the  hour, 
after  the  day's  work  was  done,  far  into  the  night,  till 
at  length  he  managed  to  draw  from  him  the  secret  of 
his  misery. 

"I  will  never  be  a  man  again,"  he  said,  bitterly,  to 
Yankee.  "And  there  is  the  farm  all  to  pay  for.  I 
have  put  it  off  too  long  and  now  it  is  too  late,  and  it 
is  all  because  of  that — that — brute  beast  of  a  French- 
man." 

"Mean  cuss!"  ejaculated  Yankee. 

"And  I  am  saying,"  continued  Macdonald  Dubh, 
opening  his  heart  still  further,  "I  am  saying,  it  was 
no  fair  fight,  whatever.  I  could  whip  him  with  one 
hand.  It  was  when  I  was  pulling  out  Big  Mack,  poor 

189 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

fellow,  from  under  the  heap,  that  he  took  me  una- 
wares. ' ' 

"That's  so,"  assented  Yankee.  "Blamed  low- 
down  trick." 

"And,  oh,  I  will  be  praying  God  to  give  me 
strength  just  to  meet  him!  I  will  ask  no  more. 
But,"  he  added,  in  bitter  despair,  "there  is  no  use 
for  me  to  pray.  Strength  will  come  to  me  no  more." 

"Well,"  said  Yankee,  brightly,  "needn't  worry 
about  that  varmint.  He  ain't  worth  it,  anyhow." 

"Aye,  he  is  not  worth  it,  indeed,  and  that  is  the 
man  who  has  brought  me  to  this."  That  was  the 
bitter  part  to  Macdonald  Dubh.  A  man  he  despised 
had  beaten  him. 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Yankee,  "course  I  ain't 
much  good  at  this,  but  if  you  will  just  quit  worryin', 
I'll  undertake  to  settle  this  little  account  with  Mr. 
LeNware." 

"And  what  good  would  that  be  to  me?"  said  Mac- 
donald Dubh.  "It  is  myself  that  wants  to  meet  him." 
It  was  not  so  much  the  destruction  of  LeNoir  that 
he  desired  as  that  he  should  have  the  destroying  of 
him.  While  he  cherished  this  feeling  in  his  heart,  it 
was  not  strange  that  the  minister  in  his  visits  found 
Black  Hugh  unapproachable,  and  concluded  that  he 
was  in  a  state  of  settled  "hardness  of  heart."  His 
wife  knew  better,  but  even  she  dared  not  approach 
Macdonald  Dubh  on  that  subject,  which  had  not  been 
mentioned  between  them  since  the  morning  he  had 
opened  his  heart  to  her.  The  dark,  haggard,  gloomy 
face  haunted  her.  She  longed  to  help  him  to  peace. 

190 


SEED-TIME 

It  was  this  that  sent  her  to  his  brother,  Macdonald 
Bhain,  to  whom  she  told  as  much  of  the  story  as  she 
thought  wise. 

"I  am  afraid  he  will  never  come  to  peace  with  God 
until  he  comes  to  peace  with  this  man,"  she  said, 
sadly,  "and  it  is  a  bitter  load  that  he  is  carrying  with 
him." 

"I  will  talk  with  him,"  answered  Macdonald 
Bhain,  and  at  the  end  of  the  week  he  took  his  way 
across  to  his  brother's  home. 

He  found  him  down  in  the  brtitt,  where  he  spent 
most  of  his  days  toiling  hard  with  his  ax,  in  spite  of 
the  earnest  entreaties  of  Ranald.  He  was  butting  a 
big  tree  that  the  fire  had  laid  prone,  but  the  ax  was 
falling  with  the  stroke  of  a  weak  man. 

As  he  finished  his  cut,  his  brother  called  to  him, 
"That  is  no  work  for  you,  Hugh;  that  is  no 
work  for  a  man  who  has  been  for  six  weeks  in  his 
bed." 

"It  is  work  that  must  be  done,  however,"  Black 
Hugh  answered,  bitterly. 

"Give  me  the  ax,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain.  He 
mounted  the  tree  as  his  brother  stepped  down,  and 
swung  his  ax  deep  into  the  wood  with  a  mighty  blow. 
Then  he  remembered,  and  stopped.  He  would  not 
add  to  his  brother's  bitterness  by  an  exhibition  of  his 
mighty,  unshaken  strength.  He  stuck  the  ax  into 
the  log,  and  standing  up,  looked  over  the  brAU.  "It 
is  a  fine  bit  of  ground,  Hugh,  and  will  raise  a  good 
crop  of  potatoes." 

"Aye,"  said  Macdonald  Dubh,  sadly.  "It  has  lain 
191 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

like  this   for  three   years,   and   ought  to  have   been 
cleared  long  ago,  if  I  had  been  doing  my  duty." 

"Indeed,  it  will  burn  all  the  better  for  that,"  said 
his  brother,  cheerfully.  "And  as  for  the  potatoes, 
there  is  a  bit  of  my  clearing  that  Ranald  might  as  well 
use." 

But  Black  Hugh  shook  his  head.  "Ranald  will 
use  no  man's  clearing  but  his  own,"  he  said.  "I  am 
afraid  he  has  got  too  much  of  his  father  in  him  for 
his  own  good." 

Macdonald  Bhain  glanced  at  his  brother's  face  with 
a  look  of  mingled  pity  and  admiration.  "Ah,"  he 
said,  "Hugh,  it's  a  p'roud  man  you  are.  Macdonalds 
have  plenty  of  that,  whatever,  and  we  come  by  it 
good  enough.  Do  you  remember  at  home,  when  our 
father" — and  he  went  off  into  a  reminiscence  of  their 
boyhood  days,  talking  in  gentle,  kindly,  loving  tones, 
till  the  shadow  began  to  lift  from  his  brother's  face, 
and  he,  too,  began  to  talk.  They  spoke  of  their 
father,  who  had  always  been  to  them  a  kind  of  hero ; 
and  of  their  mother,  who  had  lived,  and  toiled,  and 
suffered  for  her  family  with  uncomplaining  patience. 

"She  was  a  good  woman,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain, 
with  a  note  of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "And  it  was 
the  hard  load  she  had  to  bear,  and  I  would  to  God  she 
were  living  now,  that  I  might  make  up  to  her  some- 
thing of  what  she  suffered  for  me." 

"And  I  am  thankful  to  God,"  said  his  brother, 
bitterly,  "that  she  is  not  here  to  see  me  now,  for  it 
would  but  add  to  the  heavy  burden  I  often  laid  upon 
her," 

193 


SEED-TIME 

"You  will  not  be  saying  that,"  said  Macdonald 
Bhain.  "But  I  am  saying  that  the  Lord  will  be 
honored  in  you  yet." 

"Indeed,  there  is  not  much  for  me,"  said  his 
brother,  gloomily,  "but  the  sick-bed  and  six  feet  or 
more  of  the  damp  earth." 

"Hugh,  man,"  said  his  brother,  hastily,  "you 
must  not  be  talking  like  that.  It  is  not  the  speech 
of  a  brave  man.  It  is  the  speech  of  a  man  that  is 
beaten  in  his  fight." 

"Beaten!"  echoed  his  brother,  with  a  kind  of  cry. 
"You  have  said  the  word.  Beaten  it  is,  and  by  a  man 
that  is  no  equal  of  mine.  You  know  that,"  he  said, 
appealing,  almost  anxiously,  to  his  brother.  "You 
know  that  well.  You  know  that  I  am  brought  to 
this" — he  held  up  his  gaunt,  bony  hands — "by  a  man 
that  is  no  equal  of  mine,  and  I  will  never  be  able  to 
look  him  in  the  face  and  say  as  much  to  him.  But 
if  the  Almighty  would  send  him  to  hell,  I  would  be 
following  him  there." 

"Whisht,  Hugh,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain,  in  a 
voice  of  awe.  "It  is  a  terrible  word  you  have  said, 
and  may  the  Lord  forgive  you." 

"Forgive  me!"  echoed  his  brother,  in  a  kind  of 
frenzy.  "Indeed,  he  will  not  be  doing  that.  Did 
not  the  minister's  wife  tell  me  as  much?" 

"No,  no,"  said  his  brother.  "She  would  not  be 
saying  that." 

"Indeed,  that  is  her  very  word,"  said  Black  Hugh. 

"She  could  not  say  that,"  said  his  brother,  "for 
it  is  not  the  Word  of  God." 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Indeed,"  replied  Black  Hugh,  like  a  man  who 
had  thought  it  all  out,  "she  would  be  reading  it  out 
of  the  Book  to  me  that  unless  I  would  be  forgiving, 
that — that — "  he  paused,  not  being  able  to  find  a 
word,  but  went  on — "then  I  need  not  hope  to  be  for- 
given my  own  self." 

"Yes,  yes.  That  is  true,"  assented  Macdonald 
Bhain.  "But,  by  the  grace  of  God,  you  will  forgive, 
and  you  will  be  forgiven." 

"Forgive!"  cried  Black  Hugh,  his  face  convulsed 
with  passion.  "Hear  me!" — he  raised  his  hand  to 
heaven. — "If  I  ever  forgive — " 

But  his  brother  caught  his  arm  and  drew  it  down 
swiftly,  saying:  "Whisht,  man.  Don't  tempt  the 
Almighty."  Then  he  added,  "You  would  not  be 
shutting  yourself  out  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord 
and  from  the  presence  of  those  he  has  taken  to  him- 
self?" 

His  brother  stood  silent  a  few  moments,  his  hard, 
dark  face  swept  with  a  storm  of  emotions.  Then  he1 
said,  brokenly:  "It  is  not  for  me,  I  doubt." 

But  his  brother  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  said  to 
him,  "Hear  me,  Hugh.  It  is  for  you." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  till  they  were  near  the 
house.  Ranald  and  Yankee  were  driving  their  teams 
into  the  yard. 

"That  is  a  fine  lad,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain,  point- 
ing to  Ranald. 

"Aye,"  said  his  brother;  "it  is  a  pity  he  has  not 
a  better  chance.  He  is  great  for  his  books,  but  he 
has  no  chance  whatever,  and  he  will  be  a  bowed 

194 


SEED-TIME 

man  before  he  has  cleared  this  farm  and  paid  the 
debt  on  it." 

"Never  you  fear,"  said  his  brother.  "Ranald  will 
do  well.  But,  man,  what  a  size  he  is!" 

"He  is  that,"  said  his  father,  proudly.  "He  is 
as  big  as  his  father,  and  I  doubt  some  day  he  may  be 
as  good  a  man  as  his  uncle." 

"God  grant  he  may  be  a  better!"  said  Macdonald 
Bhain,  reverently. 

"If  he  be  as  good,"  said  his  brother,  kindly,  "I 
will  be  content;  but  I  will  not  be  here  to  see  it." 

'  *  Whisht,  man, ' '  said  his  brother,  hastily.  ' '  You  are 
not  to  speak  such  things,  nor  have  them  in  your  mind. ' ' 

"Ah,"  said  Macdonald  Dubh,  sadly,  "my  day  is 
not  far  off,  and  that  I  know  right  well." 

Macdonald  Bhain  flung  his  arm  hastily  round  his 
brother's  shoulder.  "Do  not  speak  like  that,  Hugh," 
he  said,  his  voice  breaking  suddenly.  And  then  he 
drew  away  his  arm  as  if  ashamed  of  his  emotion,  and 
said,  with  kindly  dignity,  "Please  God,  you  will  see 
many  days  yet,  and  see  your  boy  come  to  honor 
among  men." 

But  Black  Hugh  only  shook  his  head  in  silence. 

Before  they  came  to  the  door,  Macdonald  Bhain 
said,  with  seeming  indifference,  "You  have  not  been 
to  church  since  you  got  up,  Hugh.  You  will  be  going 
to-morrow,  if  it  is  a  fine  day?" 

"It  is  too  long  a  walk,  I  doubt,"  answered  his 
brother. 

"That  it  is,  but  Yankee  will  drive  you  in  his  buck- 
board,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain. 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"In  the  buckboard?"  said  Macdonald  Dubh. 
"And,  indeed,  I  was  never  in  a  buckboard  in  my 
life." 

"It  is  not  too  late  to  begin  to-morrow,"  said  his 
brother,  "and  it  will  do  you  good." 

"I  doubt  that,"  said  Black  Hugh,  gloomily. 
"The  church  will  not  be  doing  me  much  good  any 
more." 

"Do  not  say  such  a  thing;  and  Yankee  will  drive 
you  in  his  buckboard  to-morrow." 

His  brother  did  not  promise,  but  next  day  the 
congregation  received  a  shock  of  surprise  to  see  Mac- 
donald Dubh  walk  down  the  aisle  to  his  place  in  the 
church.  And  through  all  the  days  of  the  spring  and 
summer  his  place  was  never  empty;  and  though  the 
shadow  never  lifted  from  his  face,  the  minister's  wife 
felt  comforted  about  him,  and  waited  for  the  day  of 
his  deliverance. 


196 


CHAPTER   XIII 
THE   LOGGING   BEE 

Macdonald  Bhain's  visit  to  his  brother  was  fruitful 
in  another  way.  After  taking  counsel  with  Yankee 
and  Kirsty,  he  resolved  that  he  would  speak  to  his 
neighbors  and  make  a  "bee,"  to  attack  the  brtitt. 
He  knew  better  than  to  consult  either  his  brother  or 
his  nephew,  feeling  sure  that  their  Highland  pride 
would  forbid  accepting  any  such  favor,  and  all  the 
more  because  it  seemed  to  be  needed.  But  without 
their  leave  the  bee  was  arranged,  and  in  the  beginning 
of  the  following  week  the  house  of  Macdonald  Dubh 
was  thrown  into  a  state  of  unparalleled  confusion,  and 
Kirsty  went  about  in  a  state  of  dishevelment  that  gave 
token  that  the  daily  struggle  with  dirt  had  reached 
the  acute  stage.  From  top  to  bottom,  inside  and 
outside,  everything  that  could  be  scrubbed  was 
scrubbed,  and  then  she  settled  about  her  baking,  but 
with  all  caution,  lest  she  should  excite  her  brother's 
or  her  nephew's  suspicion.  It  was  a  good  thing  that 
little  baking  was  required,  for  the  teams  that  brought 
the  men  with  their  axes  and  logging-chains  for  the 
day's  work  at  the  bruti  brought  also  their  sisters  and 
mothers  with  baskets  of  provisions.  A  logging  bee 
without  the  sisters  and  mothers  with  their  baskets 
would  hardly  be  an  unmixed  blessing. 

The  first  man  to  arrive  with  his  team  was  Peter 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

McGregor's  Angus,  and  with  him  came  his  sister 
Bella.  He  was  shortly  afterward  followed  by  other 
teams  in  rapid  succession — the  Rosses,  the  McKera- 
chers,  the  Camerons,  both  Don  and  Murdie,  the  Rory 
McCuaigs,  the  McRaes,  two  or  three  families  of 
them,  the  Frasers,  and  others — till  some  fifteen  teams 
and  forty  men,  and  boys,  who  thought  themselves 
quite  men,  lined  up  in  front  of  the  brtitt. 

The  bee  was  a  great  affair,  for  Macdonald  Bhain 
was  held  in  high  regard  by  the  people ;  and  besides 
this,  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  his  brother,  and 
the  circumstances  under  which  it  had  overtaken  him, 
had  aroused  in  the  community  a  very  deep  sympathy 
for  him,  and  people  were  glad  of  the  opportunity  to 
manifest  this  sympathy.  And  more  than  all,  a  log- 
ging bee  was  an  event  that  always  promised  more  or 
less  excitement  and  social  festivity. 

Yankee  was  "boss"  for  the  day.  This  position 
would  naturally  have  fallen  to  Macdonald  Bhain,  but 
at  his  brother's  bee,  Macdonald  Bhain  shrank  from 
taking  the  leading  place. 

The  men  with  the  axes  went  first,  chopping  up  the 
half-burned  logs  into  lengths  suitable  for  the  burning- 
piles,  clearing  away  the  brushwood,  and  cutting 
through  the  big  roots  of  the  fire-eaten  stumps  so  that 
they  might  more  easily  be  pulled.  Then  followed  the 
teams  with  their  logging-chains,  hauling  the  logs  to 
the  piles,  jerking  out  and  drawing  off  the  stumps 
whose  huge  roots  stuck  up  high  into  the  air,  and 
drawing  great  heaps  of  brush-wood  to  aid  in  reducing 
the  heavy  logs  to  ashes.  At  each  log-pile  stood  a 

198 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

man  with  a  hand-spike  to  help  the  driver  to  get  the 
log  into  position,  a  work  requiring  strength  and  skill, 
and  above  all,  a  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  logs  which 
comes  only  by  experience.  It  was  at  this  work  that 
Macdonald  Bhain  shone.  With  his  mighty  strength 
he  could  hold  steady  one  end  of  a  log  until  the  team 
could  haul  the  other  into  its  place. 

The  stump-pulling  was  always  attended  with  more 
or  less  interest  and  excitement.  Stumps,  as  well  as 
logs,  have  their  ways,  and  it  takes  a  long  experience 
to  understand  the  ways  of  stumps. 

In  stump-hauling,  young  Aleck  McGregor  was  an 
expert.  He  rarely  failed  to  detect  the  weak  side  of 
a  stump.  He  knew  his  team,  and  what  was  of  far 
greater  importance,  his  team  knew  him.  They  were 
partly  of  French-Canadian  stock,  not  as  large  as 
Farquhar  McNaughton's  big,  fat  blacks,  but  "as  full 
of  spirit  as  a  bottle  of  whisky,"  as  Aleck  himself 
would  say.  Their  first  tentative  pulls  at  the  stump 
were  taken  with  caution,  until  their  driver  and  them- 
selves had  taken  the  full  measure  of  the  strength  of 
the  enemy.  But  when  once  Aleck  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  victory  was  possible,  and  had  given  them 
the  call  for  the  final  effort,  then  his  team  put  their 
bodies  and  souls  into  the  pull,  and  never  drew  back 
till  something  came.  Their  driver  was  accustomed  to 
boast  that  never  yet  had  they  failed  to  honor  his  call. 

Farquhar's  handsome  blacks,  on  the  other  hand, 
were  never  handled  after  this  fashion.  They  were 
slow  and  sure  and  steady,  like  their  driver.  Their 
great  weight  gave  them  a  mighty  advantage  in  a  pull, 

199 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

but  never,  in  all  the  solemn  course  of  their  existence, 
had  they  thrown  themselves  into  any  doubtful  trial  of 
strength.  In  a  slow,  steady  haul  they  were  to  be 
relied  upon;  but  they  never  could  be  got  to  jerk,  and 
a  jerk  is  an  important  feature  in  stump-hauling  tac- 
tics. To-day,  however,  a  new  experience  was  await- 
ing them.  Farquhar  was  an  old  man  and  slow,  and 
Yankee,  while  he  was  unwilling  to  hurry  him,  was 
equally  unwilling  that  his  team  should  not  do  a  full 
day's  work.  He  persuaded  Farquhar  that  his  pres- 
ence was  necessary  at  one  of  the  piles,  not  with  the 
hand-spike,  but  simply  to  superintend  the  arranging 
of  the  mass  for  burning.  "For  it  ain't  every  man," 
Yankee  declared,  "could  build  a  pile  to  burn."  As 
for  his  team,  Yankee  persuaded  the  old  man  that 
Ranald  was  unequaled  in  handling  horses;  that  last 
winter  no  driver  in  the  camp  was  up  to  him.  Reluct- 
antly Farquhar  handed  his  team  over  to  Ranald,  and 
stood  for  some  time  watching  the  result  of  the  new 
combination. 

Ranald  was  a  born  horseman.  He  loved  horses 
and  understood  them.  Slowly  he  moved  the  blacks 
at  their  work,  knowing  that  horses  are  sensitive  to  a 
new  hand  and  voice,  and  that  he  must  adapt  himself 
to  their  ways,  if  he  would  bring  them  at  last  to  his. 
Before  long  Farquhar  was  contented  to  go  off  to  his 
pile,  satisfied  that  his  team  was  in  good  hands,  and 
not  sorry  to  be  relieved  of  the  necessity  of  hurrying 
his  pace  through  the  long,  hot  day,  as  would  have  been 
necessary  in  order  to  keep  up  with  the  other  drivers. 

For  each  team  a  strip    of    the  brAU  was  marked 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

out  to  clear  after  the  axes.  The  logs,  brush,  and 
stumps  had  to  be  removed  and  dragged  to  the  burn- 
ing-piles. Aleck,  with  his  active,  invincible  French- 
Canadians,  Ranald  with  Farquhar's  big,  sleek  blacks, 
and  Don  with  his  father's  team,  worked  side  by  side. 
A  contest  was  inevitable,  and  before  an  hour  had  passed 
Don  and  Aleck,  while  making  a  great  show  of  deliber- 
ation, were  striving  for  the  first  place,  with  Aleck 
easily  leading.  Like  a  piece  of  machinery,  Aleck  and 
his  team  worked  together.  Quickly  and  neatly  both 
driver  and  horses  moved  about  their  work  with  perfect 
understanding  of  each  other.  With  hardly  a  touch  of 
the  lines,  but  almost  entirely  by  word  of  command, 
Aleck  guided  his  team.  And  when  he  took  up  the 
whiffletrees  to  swing  them  around  to  a  log  or  stump, 
his  horses  wheeled  at  once  into  place.  It  was  beauti- 
ful to  see  them,  wheeling,  backing,  hauling,  pulling, 
without  loss  of  time  or  temper. 

With  Don  and  his  team  it  was  all  hard  work.  His 
horses  were  willing  and  quick  enough,  but  they  were 
ill-trained  and  needed  constant  tugging  at  the  lines. 
In  vain  Don  shouted  and  cracked  his  whip,  hurrying 
his  team  to  his  pile  and  back  again ;  the  horses  only 
grew  more  and  more  awkward,  while  they  foamed  and 
fretted  and  tired  themselves  out. 

Behind  came  Ranald,  still  humoring  his  slow-going 
team  with  easy  hand  and  quiet  voice.  But  while  he 
refrained  from  hurrying  his  horses,  he  himself  worked 
hard,  and  by  his  good  judgment  and  skill  with  the 
chain,  and  in  skidding  the  logs  into  his  pile,  in  which 
his  training  in  the  shanty  had  made  him  more  than  a 

201 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

match  for  any  one  in  the  field,  many  minutes  were 
saved. 

When  the  cowbell  sounded  for  dinner,  Aleck's  team 
stepped  off  for  the  barn,  wet,  but  fresh  and  frisky  as 
ever,  and  in  perfect  heart.  Don's  horses  appeared 
fretted  and  jaded,  while  Ranald  brought  in  his  blacks 
with  their  glossy  skins  white  with  foam  where  the 
harness  had  chafed,  but  unfretted,  and  apparently  as 
ready  for  work  as  when  they  began. 

"You  have  spoiled  the  shine  of  your  team,"  said 
Aleck,  looking  over  Ranald's  horses  as  he  brought 
them  up  to  the  trough.  "Better  turn  them  out  for 
the  afternoon.  They  can't  stand  much  more  of  that 
pace." 

Aleck  was  evidently  trying  to  be  good-natured,  but 
he  could  not  hide  the  sneer  in  his  tone.  They  had 
neither  of  them  forgotten  the  incident  at  the  church 
door,  and  both  felt  that  it  would  not  be  closed  until 
more  had  been  said  about  it.  But  to-day,  Ranald 
was  in  the  place  of  host,  and  it  behooved  him  to  be 
courteous,  and  Aleck  was  in  good  humor  with  him- 
self, for  his  team  had  easily  led  the  field ;  and  besides, 
he  was  engaged  in  a  kind  and  neighborly  undertaking, 
and  he  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  spoil  it  by  any  pri- 
vate grudge.  He  would  have  to  wait  for  his  settle- 
ment with  Ranald. 

During  the  hour  and  a  half  allowed  for  dinner, 
Ranald  took  his  horses  to  the  well,  washed  off  their 
legs,  removed  their  harness,  and  led  them  to  a  cool 
spot  behind  the  barn,  and  there,  while  they  munched 
their  oats,  he  gave  them  a  good  hard  rub-down,  so 

202 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

that  when  he  brought  them  into  the  field  again,  his 
team  looked  as  glossy  and  felt  as  fresh  as  before  they 
began  the  day's  work. 

As  Ranald  appeared  on  the  field  with  his  glossy 
blacks,  Aleck  glanced  at  the  horses,  and  began  to  feel 
that,  in  the  contest  for  first  place,  it  was  Ranald  he 
had  to  fear,  with  his  cool,  steady  team,  rather  than 
Don.  Not  that  any  suspicion  crossed  his  mind  that 
Farquhar  McNaughton's  sleek,  slow-going  horses 
could  ever  hold  their  own  with  his,  but  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  Ranald,  at  least,  was  worth  watching. 

"Bring  up  your  gentry,"  he  called  to  Ranald,  "if 
you  are  not  too  fine  for  common  folks.  Man,  that 
team  of  yours,"  he  continued,  "should  never  be  put 
to  work  like  this.  Their  feet  should  never  be  off 
pavement." 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  Ranald,  quietly.  "I  am 
coming  after  you,  and  perhaps  before  night  the  blacks 
may  show  you  their  heels  yet." 

"There's  lots  of  room,"  said  Aleck,  scornfully,  and 
they  both  set  to  work  with  all  the  skill  and  strength 
that  lay  in  themselves  and  in  their  teams. 

For  the  first  hour  or  two  Ranald  was  contented  to 
follow,  letting  his  team  take  their  way,  but  saving 
every  moment  he  could  by  his  own  efforts.  So  that, 
without  fretting  his  horses  in  the  least,  or  without, 
moving  them  perceptibly  out  of  their  ordinary  gait, 
he  found  himself  a  little  nearer  to  Aleck  than  he  had 
been  at  noon;  but  the  heavy  lifting  and  quick  work 
began  to  tell  upon  him.  His  horses,  he  knew,  would 
not  stand  very  much  hurrying.  They  were  too  fat  for 

203 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

any  extra  exertion  in  such  heat,  and  so  Ranald  was 
about  to  resign  himself  to  defeat,  when  he  observed 
that  in  the  western  sky  clouds  were  coming  up.  At 
the  "same  time  a  cool  breeze  began  to  blow,  and  he 
took  fresh  heart.  If  he  could  hurry  his  team  a  little 
more,  he  might  catch  Aleck  yet ;  so  he  held  his  own 
a  little  longer,  preserving  the  same  steady  pace,  until 
the  clouds  from  the  west  had  covered  all  the  sky. 
Then  gradually  he  began  to  quicken  his  horses'  move- 
ments and  to  put  them  on  heavier  loads.  Wherever 
opportunity  offered,  instead  of  a  single  log,  or  at  most 
two,  he  would  take  three  or  four  for  his  load ;  and  in 
ways  known  only  to  horsemen,  he  began  to  stir  up  the 
spirit  of  his  team,  and  to  make  them  feel  something 
of  his  own  excitement. 

To  such  good  purpose  did  he  plan,  and  so  nobly 
did  his  team  respond  to  his  quiet  but  persistent  press- 
ure, that,  ere  Aleck  was  aware,  Ranald  was  up  on  his 
flank ;  and  then  they  each  knew  that  until  the  supper- 
bell  rang  he  would  have  to  use  to  the  best  advantage 
every  moment  of  time  and  every  ounce  of  strength  in 
himself  and  his  team  if  he  was  to  win  first  place. 

Somehow  the  report  of  the  contest  went  over  the 
field,  till  at  length  it  reached  the  ears  of  Farquhar. 
At  once  the  old  man,  seized  with  anxiety  for  his  team, 
and  moved  by  the  fear  of  what  Kirsty  might  say  if  the 
news  ever  reached  her  ears,  set  off  across  the  brdte  to 
remonstrate  with  Ranald,  and  if  necessary,  rescue  his 
team  from  peril. 

But  Don  saw  him  coming,  and  knowing  that  every 
moment  was  precious,  and  dreading  lest  the  old  man 

204 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

would  snatch  from  Ranald  the  victory  which  seemed 
to  be  at  least  possible  for  him,  he  arrested  Farquhar 
with  a  call  for  assistance  with  a  big  log,  and  then 
engaged  him  in  conversation  upon  the  merits  of  his 
splendid  team. 

"And  look,"  cried  he,  admiringly,  "how  Ranald 
is  handling  them !  Did  you  ever  see  the  likes  of 
that?" 

The  old^  man  stood  watching  for  a  few  moments, 
doubtfully  enough,  while  Don  continued  pouring  forth 
the  praises  of  his  horses,  and  the  latter,  as  he  noticed 
Farquhar's  eyes  glisten  with  pride,  ventured  to  hint 
that  before  the  day  was  done  "he  would  make  Aleck 
McRae  and  his  team  look  sick.  And  without  a  hurt 
to  the  blacks,  too,"  he  put  in,  diplomatically,  "for 
Ranald  is  not  the  man  to  hurt  a  team."  And  as 
Farquhar  stood  and  watched  Ranald  at  his  work,  and 
noted  with  surprise  how  briskly  and  cleverly  the  blacks 
swung  into  their  places,  and  detected  also  with  his 
experienced  eye  that  Aleck  was  beginning  to  show 
signs  of  hurry,  he  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  con- 
test, and  determined  to  allow  his  team  to  win  victory 
for  themselves  and  their  driver  if  they  could. 

The  ax  men  had  finished  their  ' '  stent. ' '  It  wanted 
still  an  hour  of  supper-time,  and  surely  if  slowly, 
Ranald  was  making  toward  first  place.  The  other 
teams  were  left  far  behind  with  their  work,  and  the 
whole  field  began  to  center  attention  upon  the  two 
that  were  now  confessedly  engaged  in  desperate  con- 
flict at  the  front.  One  by  one  the  ax  men  drew 
toward  the  end  of  the  field,  where  Ranald  and  Aleck 

205 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

were  fighting  out  their  fight,  all  pretense  of  deliber- 
ation on  the  part  of  the  drivers  having  by  this  time 
been  dropped.  They  no  longer  walked  as  they 
hitched  their  chains  about  the  logs  or  stumps,  but 
sprang  with  eager  haste  to  their  work.  One  by  one 
the  other  teamsters  abandoned  their  teams  and  moved 
across  the  field  to  join  the  crowd  already  gathered 
about  the  contestants.  Among  them  came  Macdon- 
ald  Bhain,  who  had  been  working  at  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  brtitt.  As  soon  as  he  arrived  upon  the 
scene,  and  understood  what  was  going  on,  he  cried  to 
Ranald:  "That  will  do  now,  Ranald;  it  will  be  time 
to  quit." 

Ranald  was  about  to  stop,  and  indeed  had  checked 
his  horses,  when  Aleck,  whose  blood  was  up,  called 
out  tauntingly,  "Aye,  it  would  be  better  for  him  and 
his  horses  to  stop.  They  need  it  bad  enough." 

This  was  too  much  for  even  Farquhar's  sluggish 
blood.  "Let  them  go,  Ranald!"  he  cried.  "Let 
them  go,  man !  Never  you  fear  for  the  horses,  if  you 
take  down  the  spunk  o'  yon  crowing  cock." 

It  was  just  what  Ranald  needed  to  spur  him  on — a 
taunt  from  his  foe  and  leave  from  Farquhar  to  push 
his  team. 

Before  each  lay  a  fallen  tree  cut  into  lengths  and 
two  or  three  half-burned  stumps.  Ranald's  tree  was 
much  the  bigger.  A  single  length  would  have  been  an 
ordinary  load  for  the  blacks,  but  their  driver  felt  that 
their  strength  and  spirit  were  both  equal  to  much 
more  than  this.  He  determined  to  clear  away  the 
whole  tree  at  a  single  load.  As  soon  as  he  heard 

206 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

Farquhar's  voice,  he  seized  hold  of  the  whiffletrees, 
struck  his  team  a  sharp  blow  with  the  lines — their  first 
blow  that  day — swung  them  round  to  the  top  of  the 
tree,  ran  the  chain  through  its  swivel,  hooked  an  end 
round  each  of  the  top  lengths,  swung  them  in  toward 
the  butt,  unhooked  his  chain,  gathered  all  three 
lengths  into  a  single  load,  faced  his  horses  toward  the 
pile,  and  shouted  at  them.  The  blacks,  unused  to 
this  sort  of  treatment,  were  prancing  with  excitement, 
and  when  the  word  came  they  threw  themselves  into 
their  collars  with  a  fierceness  that  nothing  could  check, 
and  amid  the  admiring  shouts  of  the  crowd,  tore  the 
logs  through  the  black  soil  and  landed  them  safely  at 
the  pile.  It  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  minutes  to 
unhitch  the  chain,  haul  the  logs,  one  by  one,  into 
place,  and  dash  back  with  his  team  at  the  gallop  for 
the  stumps,  while  Aleck  had  still  another  load  of  logs 
to  draw. 

Ranald's  first  stump  came  out  with  little  trouble, 
and  was  borne  at  full  speed  to  the  pile.  The  second 
stump  gave  him  more  difficulty,  and  before  it  would 
yield  he  had  to  sever  two  or  three  of  its  thickest  roots. 
.  Together  the  teams  swung  round  to  their  last 
stump.  The  excitement  in  the  crowd  was  intense. 
Aleck's  team  was  moving  swiftly  and  with  the  steadi- 
ness of  clockwork.  The  blacks  were  frantic  with 
excitement  and  hard  to  control.  Ranald's  last  stump 
was  a  pine  of  medium  size,  whose  roots  were  partly 
burned  away.  It  looked  like  an  easy  victim.  Aleck's 
was  an  ugly-looking  little  elm. 

Ranald  thought  he  would  try  his  first  pull  without 
207 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

the  use  of  the  ax,  Quickly  he  backed  up  his  team  to 
the  stump,  passed  the  chain  round  a  root  on  the  far 
side,  drew  the  big  hook  far  up  the  chain,  hitched  it 
so  as  to  give  the  shortest  possible  draught,  threw  the 
chain  over  the  top  of  the  stump  to  give  it  purchase, 
picked  up  his  lines,  and  called  to  his  team.  With  a 
rush  the  blacks  went  at  it.  The  chain  slipped  up  on 
the  root,  tightened,  bit  into  the  wood,  and  then  the 
blacks  flung  back.  Ranald  swung  them  round  the 
point  and  tried  them  again,  but  still  the  stump  refused 
to  budge. 

All  this  time  he  could  hear  Aleck  chopping  furi- 
ously at  his  elm-roots,  and  he  knew  that  unless  he  had 
his  stump  out  before  his  rival  had  his  chain  hitched 
for  the  pull  the  victory  was  lost. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  hesitated,  looking  round 
for  the  ax. 

"Try  them  again,  Ranald,"  cried  Farquhar. 
"Haw  them  a  bit." 

Once  more  Ranald  picked  up  the  lines,  swung  his 
horses  round  to  the  left,  held  them  steady  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  with  a  yell  sent  them  at  their  pull. 
Magnificently  the  blacks  responded,  furiously  tearing 
up  the  ground  with  their  feet.  A  moment  or  two 
they  hung  straining  on  their  chain,  refusing  to  come 
back,  when  slowly  the  stump  began  to  move. 

"You  have  got  it,"  cried  Farquhar.  "Gee  them 
a  point  or  two." 

But  already  Ranald  had  seen  that  this  was  neces- 
sary, and  once  more  backed  his  team  to  readjust  the 
chain  which  had  slipped  off  the  top.  As  he  fastened 

208 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

the  hook  he  heard  a  sharp  "Back!"  behind  him,  and 
he  knew  that  the  next  moment  Aleck's  team  would 
be  away  with  their  load.  With  a  yell  he  sprang  at 
his  lines,  lashed  the  blacks  over  the  back,  and  called 
to  them  once  more.  Again  his  team  responded,  and 
with  a  mighty  heave,  the  stump  came  slowly  out, 
carrying  with  it  what  looked  like  half  a  ton  of  earth. 
But  even  as  it  heaved,  he  heard  Aleck's  call  and  the 
answering  crash,  and  before  he  could  get  his  team 
a-going,  the  French-Canadians  were  off  for  their  pile 
at  a  gallop,  with  the  lines  flying  in  the  air  behind 
them.  A  moment  later  he  followed,  the  blacks  haul- 
ing their  stump  at  a  run. 

Together  he  and  Aleck  reached  the  pile.  It  only 
remained  now  to  unhook  the  chain.  In  vain  he  tugged 
and  hauled.  The  chain  was  buried  deep  beneath  the 
stump  and  refused  to  move,  and  before  he  could  swing 
his  team  about  and  turn  the  stump  over,  he  heard 
Aleck's  shout  of  victory. 

But  as  he  dropped  his  chain  and  was  leisurely  back- 
ing his  horses,  he  heard  old  Farquhar  cry,  "Hurry, 
man!  Hurry,  for  the  life  of  you!" 

Without  waiting  to  inquire  the  reason,  Ranald 
wheeled  his  team,  gave  the  stump  a  half  turn,  released 
his  chain,  and  drove  off  from  the  pile,  to  find  Aleck 
still  busy  hooking  his  chain  to  his  whiffletree. 

Aleck  had  had  the  same  difficulty  in  freeing  his 
chain  as  Ranald,  but  instead  of  trying  to  detach  it 
from  the  stump,  he  had  unhooked  the  other  end,  and 
then,  with  a  mighty  backward  jerk,  had  snatched  it 
from  the  stump.  But  before  he  could  attach  it  to  his 

209 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

place  on  the  whiffletree  again,  Ranald  stood  ready 
for  work. 

"A  win,  lad!  A  win!"  cried  old  Farquhar,  more 
excited  than  he  had  been  for  years. 

"It  is  no  win,"  said  Aleck,  hotly. 

"No,  no,  lads,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain,  before 
Farquhar  could  reply.  "It  is  as  even  a  match  as 
could  well  be.  It  is  fine  teams  you  both  have  got, 
and  you  have  handled  them  well." 

But  all  the  same,  Ranald's  friends  were  wildly 
enthusiastic  over  what  they  called  his  victory,  and 
Don  could  hardly  keep  his  hands  off  him,  for  very 

joy- 
Aleck,  on  the  other  hand,  while  claiming  the  vic- 
tory because  his  team  was  at  the  pile  first,  was  not  so 
sure  of  it  but  that  he  was  ready  to  fight  with  any  one 
venturing  to  dispute  his  claim.  But  the  men  all 
laughed  at  him  and  his  rage,  until  he  found  it  wiser 
to  be  good-humored  about  it. 

"Yon  lad  will  be  making  as  good  a  man  as  your- 
self," said  Farquhar  enthusiastically,  to  Macdonald 
Bhain,  as  Ranald  drove  his  team  to  the  stable. 

"Aye,  and  a  better,  pray  God,"  said  Macdonald 
Bhain,  fervently,  looking  after  Ranald  with  loving 
eyes.  There  was  no  child  in  his  home,  and  his 
brother's  son  was  as  his  own. 

Meanwhile  Don  had  hurried  on,  leaving  his  team 
with  Murdie  that  he  might  sing  Ranald's  praises  to 
"the  girls,"  with  whom  Ranald  was  highly  popular, 
although  he  avoided  them,  or  perhaps  because  he  did 
so,  the  ways  of  women  being  past  understanding. 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

To  Mrs.  Murray  and  Maimie,  who  with  the  minis- 
ter and  Hughie,  had  come  over  to  the  supper,  he 
went  first  with  his  tale.  Graphically  he  depicted  the 
struggle  from  its  beginning  to  the  last  dramatic  rush 
to  the  pile,  dilating  upon  Ranald's  skill  and  pluck,  and 
upon  the  wonderful  and  hitherto  unknown  virtues  of 
Farquhar's  shiny  blacks. 

"You  ought  to  see  them!"  cried  Don.  "You  bet 
they  never  moved  in  their  lives  the  way  they  did  to- 
day. Tied  him!"  he  continued.  "Tied  him!  Beat 
him,  I  say,  but  Macdonald  Bhain  says  'Tied  him' — 
Aleck  McRae,  who  thinks  himself  so  mighty  smart 
with  his  team." 

Don  forgot  in  his  excitement  that  the  McRaes  and 
their  friends  were  there  in  numbers. 

"So  he  is,"  cried  Annie  Ross,  one  of  Aleck's 
admirers.  "There  is  not  a  man  in  the  Indian  Lands 
that  can  beat  Aleck  and  his  team." 

"Well,"  exulted  Don,  "a  boy  came  pretty  near  it 
to-day." 

But  Annie  only  stuck  out  her  lip  at  him  in  the 
inimitable  female  manner,  and  ran  off  to  add  to  the 
mischief  that  Don  had  already  made  between  Ranald 
and  his  rival. 

But  now  the  day's  work  was  over,  and  the  hour  for 
the  day's  event  had  come,  for  supper  was  the  great 
event  to  which  all  things  moved  at  bees.  The  long 
tables  stood  under  the  maple  trees,  spread  with  the 
richest,  rarest,  deadliest  dainties  known  to  the  house- 
wives and  maidens  of  the  countryside.  About  the 
tables  stood  in  groups  the  white-aproned  girls,  tucked 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

and  frilled,  curled  and  ribboned  into  all  degrees  of 
bewitching  loveliness.  The  men  hurried  away  with 
their  teams,  and  then  gave  themselves  to  the  serious 
duty  of  getting  ready  for  supper,  using  many  pails  of 
water  in  their  efforts  to  remove  the  black  from  the 
burnt  wood  of  the  brtitt. 

At  length  the  women  lost  all  patience  with  them, 
and  sent  Annie  Ross,  with  two  or  three  companions, 
to  call  them  to  supper.  With  arms  intertwined,  and 
with  much  chattering  and  giggling,  the  girls  made 
their  way  to  the  group  of  men,  some  of  whom  were 
engaged  in  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  their 
toilet. 

"Supper  is  ready,"  cried  Annie,  "and  long  past 
ready.  You  need  not  be  trying  to  fix  yourselves  up  so 
fine.  You  are  just  as  bad  as  any  girls.  Oh!"  Her 
speech  ended  in  a  .shriek,  which  was  echoed  by  the 
others,  for  Aleck  McRae  rushed  at  them,  stretching 
out  his  black  hands  toward  them.  But  they  were  too 
quick  for  him,  and  fled  for  protection  to  the  safe  pre- 
cincts of  the  tables. 

At  length,  when  the  last  of  the  men  had  made 
themselves,  as  they  thought,  presentable,  they  began 
to  make  their  approach  to  the  tables,  slowly  and 
shyly  for  the  most  part,  each  waiting  for  the  other. 
Aleck  McRae,  however,  knew  little  of  shyness,  but 
walked  past  the  different  groups  of  girls,  throwing  on 
either  hand  a  smile,  a  wink,  or  a  word,  as  he  might 
find  suitable. 

Suddenly  he  came  upon  the  group  where  the  minis- 
ter's wife  and  her  niece  were  standing.  Here,  for 

212 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

the  moment,  his  ease  forsook  him,  but  Mrs.  Murray 
came  to  meet  him  with  outstretched  hand. 

"So  you  still  retain  your  laurels?"  she  said,  with 
a  frank  smile.  "I  hear  it  was  a  great  battle." 

Aleck  shook  hands  with  her  rather  awkwardly. 
He  was  not  on  the  easiest  terms  with  the  minister  and 
his  wife.  He  belonged  distinctly  to  the  careless  set, 
and  rather  enjoyed  the  distinction. 

"Oh,  it  was  not  much,"  he  said;  "the  teams  were 
well  matched." 

"Oh,  I  should  like  to  have  been  there.  You 
should  have  told  us  beforehand." 

"Oh,  it  was  more  than  I  expected  myself,"  he 
said.  "I  didn't  think  it  was  in  Farquhar's  team." 

He  could  not  bring  himself  to  give  any  credit  to 
Ranald,  and  though  Mrs.  Murray  saw  this,  she  refused 
to  notice  it.  She  was  none  the  less  anxious  to  win 
Aleck's  confidence,  because  she  was  Ranald's  friend. 

"Do  you  know  my  niece?"  she  said,  turning  to 
Maimie. 

Aleck  looked  into  Maimie's  face  with  such  open 
admiration  that  she  felt  the  blush  come  up  in  her 
cheeks. 

"Indeed,  she  is  worth  knowing,  but  I  don't  think 
she  will  care  to  take  such  a  hand  as  that,"  he  said, 
stretching  out  a  hand  still  grimy  in  spite  of  much 
washing.  But  Maimie  had  learned  something  since 
coming  to  her  aunt,  and  she  no  longer  judged  men 
by  the  fit  of  their  clothes,  or  the  color  of  their  skin, 
or  the  length  of  their  hair;  and  indeed,  as  she  looked 
at  Aleck,  with  his  close-buttoned  smock,  and  overalls 

213 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

with  the  legs  tucked  neatly  into  the  tops  of  his  boots, 
she  thought  he  was  the  trimmest  figure  she  had  seen 
since  coming  to  the  country.  She  took  Aleck's  hand 
and  shook  it  warmly,  the  full  admiration  in  his  hand- 
some black  eyes  setting  her  blood  tingling  with  that 
love  of  conquest  that  lies  in  every  woman's  heart. 
So  she  flung  out  her  flag  of  war,  and  smiled  back  at 
him  her  sweetest. 

"You  have  a  fine  team,  I  hear,"  she  said,  as  her 
aunt  moved  away  to  greet  some  of  the  other  men, 
who  were  evidently  waiting  to  get  a  word  with 
her. 

"That  I  have,  you  better  believe,"  replied  Aleck, 
proudly. 

"It  was  very  clever  of  Ranald  to  come  so  near 
beating  you,  wasn't  it?"  she  said,  innocently.  "He 
must  be  a  splendid  driver." 

"He  drives  pretty  well,"  admitted  Aleck.  "He 
did  nothing  else  all  last  winter  in  the  shanties. ' ' 

"He  is  so  young,  too,"  went  on  Maimie.  "Just 
a  boy,  isn't  he?" 

Aleck  was  not  sure  how  to  take  this.  "He  does 
not  think  so,"  he  answered,  shortly.  "He  thinks  he 
is  no  end  of  a  man,  but  he  will  have  to  learn  some- 
thing before  he  is  much  older." 

"But  he  can  drive,  you  say,"  continued  Maimie, 
wickedly  keeping  her  finger  on  the  sore  spot. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  replied  Aleck,  boldly.  "You  think 
a  lot  of  him,  don't  you  ?  And  I  guess  you  are  a  pair. ' ' 

Maimie  tossed  her  head  at  this.  "We  are  very 
good  friends,  of  course,"  she  said,  lightly.  "He  is  a 

214 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

very  nice  boy,  and  we  are  all  fond  of  him ;  but  he  is 
just  a  boy;  he  is  Hughie's  great  friend." 

"A  boy,  is  he?"  laughed  Aleck.  "That  may  be, 
but  he  is  very  fond  of  you,  whatever,  and  indeed,  I 
don't  wonder  at  that.  Anybody  would  be,"  he 
added,  boldly. 

"You  don't  know  a  bit  about  it,"  said  Maimie, 
with  cheeks  glowing. 

"About  what?" 

"About  Ranald  and — and — what  you  said." 

"What  I  said?  About  being  fond  of  you? 
Indeed,  I  know  all  about  that.  The  boys  are  all 
broke  up,  not  to  speak  of  myself." 

This  was  going  a  little  too  fast  for  Maimie.  She 
knew  nothing,  as  yet,  of  the  freedom  of  country 
banter.  She  was  new  to  the  warfare,  but  she  was 
not  going  to  lower  her  flag  or  retreat.  She  changed 
the  subject.  "Your  team  must  have  been  very 
tired." 

"Tired!"  exclaimed  Aleck,  "not  a  bit.  They  will 
go  home  like  birds.  Come  along  with  me,  and  you 
will  see." 

Maimie  gasped.  "I — "  she  hesitated,  glanced 
past  Aleck,  blushed,  and  stammered. 

Aleck  turned  about  quickly  and  saw  Ranald  staring 
at  Maimie.  "Oh,"  he  said,  banteringly,  "I  see. 
You  would  not  be  allowed." 

"Allowed!"  echoed  Maimie.  "And  why  not, 
pray?  Who  will  hinder  me?" 

But  Aleck  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked 
at  Ranald,  who  passed  on  to  his  place  at  the  table, 

215 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

black  as  a  thunder-cloud.  Maimie  was  indignant  at 
him.  What  right  had  he  to  stare  and  look  so  savage? 
She  would  just  show  him.  So  she  turned  once 
more  to  Aleck,  and  with  a  gay  laugh,  cried,  "Some 
day  I  will  accept  your  invitation,  so  just  make 
ready." 

"Any  day,  or  every  day,  and  the  more  days  the 
better,"  cried  Aleck,  as  he  sat  down  at  the  table, 
where  all  had  now  taken  their  places. 

The  supper  was  a  great  success.  With  much 
laughter  and  chaffing,  the  girls  flitted  from  place  to 
place,  pouring  cups  of  tea  and  passing  the  various 
dishes,  urging  the  men  to  eat,  till,  as  Don  said,  they 
were  "full  to  the  neck." 

When  all  had  finished,  Mr.  Murray,  who  sat  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  rose  in  his  place  and  said:  "Gentle- 
men, before  we  rise  from  this  table,  which  has  been 
spread  so  bountifully  for  us,  I  wish  to  return  thanks 
on  behalf  of  Mr.  Macdonald  to  the  neighbors  and 
friends  who  have  gathered  to-day  to  assist  in  this 
work.  Mr.  Macdonald  asked  me  to  say  that  he  is  all 
the  more  surprised  at  this  kindness,  in  that  he  feels 
himself  to  be  so  unworthy  of  it.  I  promised  to  speak 
this  word  for  him,  but  I  do  not  agree  with  the  senti- 
ment. Mr.  Macdonald  is  a  man  whom  we  all  love, 
and  in  whose  misfortune  we  deeply  sympathize,  and  I 
only  hope  that  this  Providence  may  be  greatly  blessed 
to  him,  and  that  we  will  all  come  to  know  him  better, 
and  to  see  God's  hand  in  his  misfortune." 

The  minister  then,  after  some  further  remarks  ex- 
pressive of  the  good  will  of  the  neighbors  for  Mr. 

316 


THE        LOGGING       BEE 

Macdonald,  and  in  appreciation  of  the  kind  spirit  that 
prompted  the  bee,  returned  thanks,  and  the  supper 
was  over. 

As  the  men  were  leaving  the  table,  Aleck  watched 
his  opportunity  and  called  to  Maimie,  when  he  was 
sure  Ranald  could  hear,  "Well,  when  will  you  be 
ready  for  that  drive?" 

And  Maimie,  who  was  more  indignant  at  Ranald 
than  ever  because  he  had  ignored  all  her  advances  at 
supper,  and  had  received  her  congratulations  upon  his 
victory  with  nothing  more  than  a  grunt,  answered 
Aleck  brightly,  ''Oh,  any  day  that  you  happen  to 
remember." 

"Remember!"  cried  Aleck;  "then  that  will  be 
every  day  until  our  ride  comes  off." 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  Ranald  was  hitching  up 
Farquhar's  team,  Aleck  passed  by,  and  in  great  good 
humor  with  himself,  chaffingly  called  out  to  Ranald  in 
the  presence  of  a  number  of  the  men,  "That's  a  fine 
girl  you've  got,  Ranald.  But  you  better  keep  your 
eye  on  her." 

Ranald  made  no  reply.  He  was  fast  losing  com- 
mand of  himself. 

"Pretty  skittish  to  handle,  isn't  she?"  continued 
Aleck. 

"What  y're  talkin'  'bout?  That  Lizette  mare?" 
said  Yankee,  walking  round  to  Ranald's  side.  "  Purty 
slick  beast,  that.  Guess  there  ain't  anythin'  in  this 
country  will  make  her  take  dust." 

Then  in  a  low  voice  he  said  to  Ranald,  hurriedly, 
"Don't  you  mind  him;  don't  you  mind  him.  You 

217 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

can't  touch  him  to-day,  on  your  own  place.  Let  me 
handle  him." 

"No,"  said  Aleck.  "We  were  talking  about 
another  colt  of  Ranald's." 

"What's  that?"  said  Yankee,  pretending  not  to 
hear.  "Yes,  you  bet,"  he  continued.  "Ranald  can 
handle  her  all  right.  He  knows  something  about 
horses,  as  I  guess  you  have  found  out,  perhaps,  by 
this  time.  Never  saw  anything  so  purty.  Didn't 
know  your  team  had  got  that  move  in  them,  Mr. 
McNaughton,"  Yankee  went  on  to  Farquhar,  who 
had  just  come  up. 

"Indeed,  they  are  none  the  worse  of  it,"  said  Far- 
quhar, rubbing  his  hands  over  the  sleek  sides  of  his 
horses. 

"Worse!"  cried  Yankee.  "They're  worth  a  hun- 
dred dollars  more  from  this  day  on." 

"I  don't  know  that.  The  hundred  dollars  ought 
to  go  upon  the  driver,"  said  Farquhar,  putting  his 
hand  kindly  upon  Ranald's  shoulder. 

But  this  Ranald  warmly  repudiated.  "They  are  a 
great  team,"  he  said  to  Farquhar.  "And  they  could 
do  better  than  they  did  to-day  if  they  were  better 
handled." 

"Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  get  that,"  said 
Farquhar,  "for,  in  my  opinion,  there  is  not  a  man  in 
the  country  that  could  handle  them  as  well." 

This  was  too  much  for  Aleck,  who,  having  by  this 
time  got  his  horses  hitched,  mounted  his  wagon  seat 
and  came  round  to  the  door  at  a  gallop. 

"Saved  you  that  time,  my  boy,"  said  Yankee  to 
218 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

Ranald.     "You  would  have  made  a  fool  of  yourself 
in  about  two  minutes  more,  I  guess." 

But  Ranald  was  still  too  wrathful  to  be  grateful  for 
Yankee's  help.  "I  will  be  even  with  him  some  day," 
he  said,  between  his  teeth. 

"I  guess  you  will  have  to  learn  two  or  three  things 
first,"  said  Yankee,  slowly. 

"What  things?" 

"Well,  how  to  use  your  head,  first  place,  and  then 
how  to  use  your  hands.  He  is  too  [heavy  for  you. 
He  would  crumple  you  up  in  a  couple  of  minutes." 

"Let  him,  then,"  said  Ranald,  recklessly. 

"Rather  onpleasant.  Better  wait  awhile  till  you 
learn  what  I  told  you." 

"Yankee,"  said  Ranald,  after  a  pause,  "will  you 
show  me?" 

"Why,  sartin  sure,"  said  Yankee,  cheerfully. 
"You  have  got  to  lick  him  some  day,  or  he  won't  be 
happy;  and  by  jings!  it  will  be  worth  seein',  too." 

By  this  time  Farquhar  had  come  back  from  saying 
good  by  to  Macdonald  Dubh  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, who  were  remaining  till  the  last. 

"You  will  be  a  man  yet,"  said  Farquhar,  shaking 
Ranald's  hand.  "You  have  got  the  patience  and  the 
endurance."  These  were  great  virtues  in  Farquhar's 
opinion. 

"Not  much  patience,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Ranald. 
"But  I  am  glad  you  trusted  me  with  your  team." 

"And  any  day  you  want  them  you  can  have  them," 
said  Farquhar,  his  reckless  mood  leading  him  to  for- 
get Kirsty  for  the  moment. 

219 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Ranald,  wondering  what 
Kirsty  would  look  like  should  he  ever  venture  to  claim 
Farquhar's  offer. 

One  by  one  the  teams  drove  away  with  their  loads, 
till  only  the  minister  and  his  party  were  left.  Away 
under  the  trees  Mr.  Murray  was  standing,  earnestly 
talking  to  Macdonald  Dubh.  He  had  found  the  oppor- 
tunity he  had  long  waited  for  and  was  making  the 
most  of  it.  Mrs.  Murray  was  busy  with  Kirsty,  and 
Maimie  and  Hughie  came  toward  the  stable  where 
Yankee  and  Ranald  were  still  standing.  As  soon  as 
Ranald  saw  them  approaching  he  said  to  Yankee, 
abruptly,  "I  am  going  to  get  the  minister's  horse," 
and  disappeared  into  the  stable.  Nor  did  he  come 
forth  again  till  he  heard  his  father  calling  to  him: 
"What  is  keeping  you,  Ranald?  The  minister  is 
waiting  for  his  horse." 

"So  you  won  a  great  victory,  Ranald,  I  hear," 
said  the  minister,  as  Ranald  brought  Black  to  the 
door. 

"It  was  a  tie,"  said  Ranald. 

"Oh,  Ranald!"  cried  Hughie,  "you  beat  him. 
Everybody  says  so.  You  had  your  chain  hitched  up 
and  everything  before  Aleck. ' ' 

"I  hear  it  was  a  great  exhibition,  not  only  of  skill, 
but  of  endurance  and  patience,  Ranald,"  said  the 
minister.  "And  these  are  noble  virtues.  It  is  a 
great  thing  to  be  able  to  endure." 

But  Ranald  made  no  reply,  busying  himself  with 
Black's  bridle.  Mrs.  Murray  noticed  his  gloom  and 
guessed  its  cause. 

220 


THE        LOGGING        BEE 

"We  will  see  you  at  the  Bible  class,  Ranald,"  she 
said,  kindly,  but  still  Ranald  remained  silent. 

"Can  you  not  speak,  man?"  said  his  father.  "Do 
you  not  hear  the  minister's  wife  talking  to  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  "I  will  be  there." 

"We  will  be  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Murray, 
offering  him  her  hand.  "And  you  might  come  in 
with  Hughie  for  a  few  minutes  afterward,"  she 
continued,  kindly,  for  she  noted  the  misery  in  his 
face. 

"And  we  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  too,  Mr.  Mac- 
donald,  if  it  would  not  be  too  much  for  you,  and  if 
you  do  not  scorn  a  woman's  teaching." 

' '  Indeed,  I  would  be  proud, ' '  said  Macdonald  Dubh, 
courteously,  "as  far  as  that  is  concerned,  for  I  hear 
there  are  better  men  than  me  attending." 

"I  am  sure  Mrs.  Murray  will  be  glad  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  the  minister. 

"I  will  be  thinking  of  it,"  said  Macdonald  Dubh, 
cautiously.  "And  you  are  both  very  kind,  whatever," 
he  said,  losing  for  a  time  his  habitual  gloom. 

"Well,  then,  I  will  look  for  you  both,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  as  they  were  about  to  drive  off,  "so  do  not 
disappoint  me." 

"Good  by,  Ranald,"  said  Maimie,  offering  Ranald 
her  hand. 

"Good  by,"  said  Ranald,  holding  her  hand  for  a 
moment  and  looking  hard  into  her  eyes,  "and  I  hope 
you  will  enjoy  your  ride,  whatever." 

Then  Maimie  understood  Ranald's  savage  manner, 
and  as  she  thought  it  over  she  smiled  to  herself.  She 

3*1 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

was  taking  her  first  sips  of  that  cup,  to  woman's  lips 
the  sweetest,  and  she  found  it  not  unpleasant.  She 
had  succeeded  in  making  one  man  happy  and  another 
miserable.  But  it  was  when  she  said  to  herself,  "Poor 
Ranald!"  that  she  smiled  most  sweetly. 


222 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SHE  WILL  NOT  FORGET 

If  Mrs.  Murray  was  not  surprised  to  see  Macdonald 
Dubh  and  Yankee  walk  in  on  Sabbath  evening  and  sit 
down  in  the  back  seat,  her  class  were.  Indeed  the 
appearance  of  these  two  men  at  the  class  was  con- 
sidered an  event  so  extraordinary  as  to  give  a  decided 
shock  to  those  who  regularly  attended,  and  their  pres- 
ence lent  to  the  meeting  an  unusual  interest,  and  an 
undertone  of  excitement.  To  see  Macdonald  Dubh, 
whose  attendance  at  the  regular  Sabbath  services  was 
something  unusual,  present  at  a  religious  meeting 
which  no  one  would  consider  it  a  duty  to  attend,  was 
enough  in  itself  to  excite  surprise,  but  when  Yankee 
came  in  and  sat  beside  him,  the  surprise  was  consider- 
ably intensified.  For  Yankee  was  considered  to  be 
quite  outside  the  pale,  and  indeed,  in  a  way,  incapable 
of  religious  impression.  No  one  expected  Yankee  to 
be  religious.  He  was  not  a  Presbyterian,  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  Shorter  Catechism,  not  to  speak  of  the  Con- 
fession of  Faith,  and  consequently  was  woefully  igno- 
rant of  the  elements  of  Christian  knowledge  that  were 
deemed  necessary  to  any  true  religious  experience. 

It  was  rumored  that  upon  Yankee's  first  appearance 
in  the  country,  some  few  years  before,  he  had,  in  an 
unguarded  moment,  acknowledged  that  his  people 
had  belonged  to  the  Methodists,  and  that  he  himself 

223 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"leaned  toward"  that  peculiar  sect.  Such  a  confes- 
sion was  in  itself  enough  to  stamp  him,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  community,  as  one  whose  religious  history  must 
always  be  attended  with  more  or  less  uncertainty. 
Few  of  them  had  ever  seen  a  Methodist  in  the  flesh. 
There  were  said  to  be  some  at  Moose  Creek  (Moos- 
crick,  as  it  was  called),  but  they  were  known  only  by 
report.  The  younger  and  more  untraveled  portion  of 
the  community  thought  of  them  with  a  certain  amount 
of  awe  and  fear. 

It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  Yankee's  appearance 
in  Bible  class  produced  a  sensation.  It  was  an  even- 
ing of  sensations,  for  not  only  were  Macdonald  Dubh 
and  Yankee  present,  but  Aleck  McRae  had  driven  up 
a  load  of  people  from  below  the  Sixteenth.  Ranald 
regarded  his  presence  with  considerable  contempt. 

"It  is  not  much  he  cares  for  the  Bible  class,  what- 
ever," he  confided  to  Don,  who  was  sitting  beside 
him. 

But  more  remarkable  and  disturbing  to  Ranald 
than  the  presence  of  Aleck  McRae,  was  that  of  a 
young  man  sitting  between  Hughie  and  Maimie  in  the 
minister's  pew.  He  was  evidently  from  the  city. 
One  could  see  that  from  his  fine  clothes  and  his  white 
shirt  and  collar.  Ranald  looked  at  him  with  deepen- 
ing contempt.  "Pride"  was  written  all  over  him. 
Not  only  did  he  wear  fine  clothes,  and  a  white  shirt 
and  collar,  but  he  wore  them  without  any  sign  of 
awkwardness  or  apology  in  his  manner,  and  indeed  as 
if  he  enjoyed  them.  But  the  crowning  proof  of  his 
"pride,"  Don  noted  with  unutterable  scorn. 

224 


SHE      WILL       NOT       FORGET 

"Look  at  him,"  he  said,  "splits  his  head  in  the 
middle." 

Ranald  found  himself  wondering  how  the  young 
fop  would  look  sitting  in  a  pool  of  muddy  water. 
How  insufferable  the  young  fellow's  manners  were! 
He  sat  quite  close  to  Maimie,  now  and  then  whisper- 
ing to  her,  evidently  quite  ignorant  of  how  to  behave 
in  church.  And  Maimie,  who  ought  to  know  better, 
was  acting  most  disgracefully  as  well,  whispering  back 
and  smiling  right  into  his  face.  Ranald  was  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  her.  He  could  not  deny  that  the  young 
fellow  was  handsome,  hatefully  so,  but  he  was  evi- 
dently stuck  full  of  conceit,  and  as  he  let  his  eyes 
wander  over  the  congregation  assembled,  with  a  bold 
and  critical  stare,  making  remarks  to  Maimie  in  an 
undertone  which  could  be  heard  over  the  church, 
Ranald  felt  his  fingers  twitching.  The  young  man  was 
older  than  Ranald,  but  Ranald  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  for  an  opportunity  to  "take  him  with  one  hand." 

At  this  point  Ranald's  reflections  were  interrupted 
by  Mrs.  Murray  rising  to  open  the  class. 

"Will  some  one  suggest  a  Psalm?"  she  asked,  her 
cheek,  usually  pale,  showing  a  slight  color.  It  was 
always  an  ordeal  for  her  to  face  her  class,  ever  since 
the  men  had  been  allowed  to  come,  and  the  first 
moments  were  full  of  trial  to  her.  Only  her  con- 
science and  her  fine  courage  kept  her  from  turning 
back  from  this,  her  path  of  duty. 

At  once,  from  two  or  three  came  responses  to  her 
invitation,  and  a  Psalm  was  chosen. 

The  singing  was  a  distinct  feature  of  the  Bible 
225 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

class.  There  was  nothing  like  it,  not  only  in  the  other 
services  of  the  congregation,  but  in  any  congregation 
in  the  whole  county.  The  young  people  that  formed 
that  Bible  class  have  long  since  grown  into  old  men 
and  women,  but  the  echoes  of  that  singing  still  rever- 
berate through  the  chambers  of  their  hearts  when  they 
stand  up  to  sing  certain  tunes  or  certain  Psalms. 
Once  a  week,  through  the  long  winter,  they  used  to 
meet  and  sing  to  John  "Aleck's"  sounding  beat  for 
two  or  three  hours.  They  learned  to  sing,  not  only 
the  old  psalm  tunes  but  psalm  tunes  never  heard  in 
the  congregation  before,  as  also  hymns  and  anthems. 
The  anthems  and  hymns  were,  of  course,  never  used 
in  public  worship.  They  were  reserved  for  the  sacred 
concert  which  John  "Aleck"  gave  once  a  year.  It 
was  in  the  Bible  class  that  he  and  his  fellow  enthusi- 
asts found  opportunity  to  sing  their  new  Psalm  tunes, 
with  now  and  then  a  hymn.  When  John  "Aleck,"  a 
handsome,  broad-shouldered,  six-footer,  stood  up  and 
bit  his  tuning-fork  to  catch  the  pitch,  the  people 
straightened  up  in  their  seats  and  prepared  to  follow 
his  lead.  And  after  his  great  resonant  voice  had 
rolled  out  the  first  few  notes  of  the  tune,  they  caught 
him  up  with  a  vigor  and  enthusiasm  that  carried  him 
along,  and  inspired  him  to  his  mightiest  efforts. 
Wonderful  singing  it  was,  full  toned,  rhythmical  and 
well  balanced. 

With  characteristic  courage,  the  minister's  wife  had 
chosen  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Romans  for  the  subject 
of  study,  and  to-night  the  lesson  was  the  redoubt- 
able ninth  chapter,  that  arsenal  for  Calvinistic  cham- 

Mt 


SHE      WILL       NOT       FORGET 

pions.  First  the  verses  were  repeated  by  the  class  in 
concert,  and  the  members  vied  with  each  other  in  mak- 
ingthis  a  perfect  exercise,  then  the  teaching  of  the  chap- 
ter was  set  forth  in  simple,  lucid  speech.  The  last  half 
hour  was  devoted  to  the  discussion  of  questions,  raised 
either  by  the  teacher  or  by  any  member  of  the  class. 
To-night  the  class  was  slow  in  asking  questions.  They 
were  face  to  face  with  the  tremendous  Pauline  Doc- 
trine of  Sovereignty.  It  was  significant  that  by 
Macdonald  Dubh,  his  brother,  and  the  other  older 
and  more  experienced  members  of  the  class,  the  doc- 
trine was  regarded  as  absolutely  inevitable  and  was 
accepted  without  question,  while  by  Yankee  and  Ran- 
ald and  all  the  younger  members  of  the  class,  it  was 
rejected  with  fierce  resentment.  The  older  men  had 
been  taught  by  the  experience  of  long  and  bitter 
years,  that  above  all  their  strength,  however  mighty, 
a  power,  resistless  and  often  inscrutable,  determined 
their  lives.  The  younger  men,  their  hearts  beating 
with  conscious  power  and  freedom,  resented  this  con- 
trol, or  accepting  it,  refused  to  assume  the  responsi- 
bility for  the  outcome  of  their  lives.  It  was  the  old, 
old  strife,  the  insoluble  mystery;  and  the  minister's 
wife,  far  from  making  light  of  it,  allowed  its  full  weight 
to  press  in  upon  the  members  of  her  class,  and  wisely 
left  the  question  as  the  apostle  leaves  it,  with  a  state- 
ment of  the  two  great  truths  of  Sovereignty  and  Free 
Will  without  attempting  the  impossible  task  of  harmo- 
nizing these  into  a  perfect  system.  After  a  half-hour 
of  discussion,  she  brought  the  lesson  to  a  close  with  a 
very  short  and  very  simple  presentation  of  the  practi- 

227 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

cal  bearing  of  the  great  doctrine.  And  while  the 
mystery  remained  unsolved,  the  limpid  clearness  of 
her  thought,  the  humble  attitude  of  mind,  the  sym- 
pathy with  doubt,  and  above  all,  the  sweet  and  tender 
pathos  that  filled  her  voice,  sent  the  class  away  hum- 
bled, subdued,  comforted,  and  willing  to  wait  the  day 
of  clearer  light.  Not  that  they  were  done  with  Pha- 
raoh and  his  untoward  fate;  that  occupied  them  for 
many  a  day. 

The  class  was  closed  with  prayer  and  singing.  As 
a  kind  of  treat,  the  last  singing  was  a  hymn  and  they 
stood  up  to  sing  it.  It  was  Perronet's  great  hymn 
sung  to  old  Coronation,  and  when  they  came  to  the 
refrain,  "Crown  him  Lord  of  all,"  the  very  rafters  of 
the  little  church  rang  with  the  mighty  volume  of 
sound.  The  Bible  class  always  closed  with  a  great 
outburst  of  singing,  and  as  a  rule,  Ranald  went  out 
tingling  and  thrilling  through  and  through.  But  to- 
night, so  deeply  was  he  exercised  with  the  unhappy 
doom  of  the  unfortunate  king  of  Egypt,  from  which, 
apparently,  there  was  no  escape,  fixed  as  it  was  by  the 
Divine  decree,  and  oppressed  with  the  feeling  that  the 
same  decree  would  determine  the  course  of  his  life, 
he  missed  his  usual  thrill.  He  was  walking  off  by 
himself  in  a  perplexed  and  downcast  mood,  avoiding 
every  one,  even  Don,  and  was  nearly  past  the  minis- 
ter's gate  when  Hughie,  excited  and  breathless,  caught 
up  to  him  and  exclaimed:  "Oh,  Ranald,  was  not  that 
splendid?  Man,  I  like  to  hear  John  'Aleck'  sing 
'Crown  him'  that  way.  And  I  say,"  he  continued, 
"mother  wants  you  to  come  in." 

223 


SHE      WILL       NOT       FORGET 

Then  all  at  once  Ranald  remembered  the  young 
man  who  had  behaved  so  disgracefully  in  church. 

"No,"  he  said,  firmly,  "I  must  be  hurrying  home. 
The  cows  will  be  to  milk  yet." 

"Oh,  pshaw!  you  must  come,"  pleaded  Hughie. 
"We  will  have  some  singing.  I  want  you  to  sing 
bass.  Perhaps  John  'Aleck'  will  come  in."  This 
was  sheer  guessing,  but  it  was  good  bait.  But  the 
young  man  with  "his  head  split  in  the  middle"  would 
be  there,  and  perhaps  Maimie  would  be  "going  on," 
with  him  as  she  did  in  the  Bible  class. 

"You  will  tell  your  mother  I  could  not  come,"  he 
said.  "Yankee  and  father  are  both  out,  and  there 
will  be  no  one  at  home." 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  pretty  mean,"  said  Hughie, 
grievously  disappointed.  "I  wanted  you  to  come  in, 
and  mother  wanted  Cousin  Harry  to  see  you." 

"Cousin  Harry?" 

"Yes;  Maimie' s  brother  came  last  night,  you 
know,  and  Maimie  is  going  back  with  him  in  two 
weeks." 

"Maimie's  brother.  Well,  well,  is  that  the  nice- 
looking  fellow  that  sat  by  you?" 

' '  Huh-huh,  he  is  awful  nice,  and  mother  wanted — ' ' 

"Indeed  he  looks  it,  I  am  sure,"  Ranald  said,  with 
sudden  enthusiasm;  "I  would  just  like  to  know  him. 
If  I  thought  Yankee  would — " 

"Oh,  pshaw!  Of  course  Yankee  will  milk  the 
cows,"  exclaimed  Hughie.  "Come  on,  come  on  in." 
And  Ranald  went  to  meet  one  of  the  great  nights  of 
his  life. 

229 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Here  is  Ranald!"  called  Hughie  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  as  he  entered  the  room  where  the  family  were 
gathered. 

"You  don't  say  so,  Hughie?"  answered  his  cousin, 
coming  forward.  "You  ought  to  make  that  fact 
known.  We  all  want  to  hear  it." 

Ranald  liked  him  from  the  first.  He  was  not  a  bit 
"proud"  in  spite  of  his  fine  clothes  and  his  head  being 
"split  in  the  middle." 

"You're  the  chap,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his 
hand  to  Ranald,  "that  snatched  Maimie  from  the  fire. 
Mighty  clever  thing  to  do.  We  have  heard  a  lot 
about  you  at  our  house.  Why,  every  week — " 

"Let  some  one  else  talk,  Harry,"  interrupted 
Maimie,  with  cheeks  flaming.  "We  are  going  to  have 
some  singing  now.  Here  is  auntie.  Mayn't  we  use 
the  piano?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mrs.  Murray.  "I 
was  glad  to  see  your  father  there  to-night,"  she  said 
to  Ranald. 

"And  Yankee,  mother." 

"Hush,  Hughie;  you  must  call  people  by  their 
right  names.  Now  let  us  have  some  singing.  I  hear 
Ranald  is  singing  bass  these  days." 

"And  bully  good  bass,  too,"  cried  Hughie.  "John 
'Aleck'  says  that  it's  the  finest  bass  in  the  whole  sing- 
ing school." 

"Well,  Hughie,"  said  his  mother,  quietly,  "I 
don't  think  it  is  necessary  to  shout  even  such  pleasant 
information  as  that.  Now  go  to  your  singing,  and  I 
shall  listen." 

230 


SHE      WILL       NOT       FORGET 

She  lay  back  in  the  big  chair,  looking  so  pale  and 
weary  that  Harry  hardly  believed  it  was  the  same 
woman  that  had  just  been  keeping  a  hundred  and  fifty 
people  keenly  alert  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  leading 
them  with  such  intellectual  and  emotional  power. 

"That  class  is  too  hard  for  you,  auntie,"  he  said. 
"If  I  were  your  husband  I  would  not  let  you  keep 
it  on." 

"But  you  see  my  husband  is  not  here.  He  is 
twelve  miles  away." 

"Then  I  would  lock  you  up,  or  take  you  with  me." 

"Oh!"  cried  Hughie,  "I  would  much  rather  teach 
the  Bible  class  than  listen  to  another  sermon." 

"Something  in  that,"  said  his  cousin,  "especially 
if  I  were  the  preacher,  eh?"  at  which  they  all  laughed. 

It  was  a  happy  hour  for  Ranald.  He  had  been  too 
shy  to  join  the  singing  school,  and  had  never  heard 
any  part  singing  till  he  began  to  attend  the  Bible  class. 
There  he  made  the  delightful  discovery  that,  without 
any  instruction,  he  could  join  in  the  bass,  and  had 
made,  also,  the  further  discovery  that  his  voice,  which 
he  had  thought  rough  and  coarse,  and  for  a  year  past, 
worse  than  ever,  could  reach  to  extraordinary  depths. 
One  Sabbath  evening,  it  chanced  that  John  "Aleck," 
who  always  had  an  ear  open  for  a  good  voice,  heard 
him  rolling  out  his  deep  bass,  and  seizing  him  on  the 
spot,  had  made  him  promise  to  join  the  singing  school. 
There  he  discovered  a  talent  and  developed  a  taste  for 
singing  that  delighted  his  leader's  heart,  and  opened 
out  to  himself  a  new  world.  The  piano,  too,  was  a 
new  and  rare  treat  to  Ranald.  In  all  the  country 

231 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

there  was  no  other,  and  even  in  the  manse  it  was 
seldom  heard,  for  Mrs.  Murray  found  little  time,  amid 
the  multitude  of  household  and  congregational  duties, 
to  keep  up  her  piano  practice.  That  part  of  her  life, 
with  others  of  like  kind,  she  had  been  forced  to  lose. 

But  since  Maimie's  coming,  the  piano  had  been  in 
daily  use,  and  even  on  the  Sabbath  days,  though  not 
without  danger  to  the  sensibilities  of  the  neighbors, 
she  had  used  it  to  accompany  the  hymns  with  which 
the  day  always  closed. 

"Let  us  have  the  parts,"  cried  Hughie.  "Maimie 
and  I  will  take  the  air,  and  Ranald  will  take  the  bass. 
Cousin  Harry,  can  you  sing?" 

"Oh,  I'll  hum." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Maimie,  "he  sings  tenor  splen- 
didly." 

"Oh,  that's  fine!"  cried  Hughie,  with  delight. 
He  himself  was  full  of  music.  "Come  on,  Ranald, 
you  stand  up  behind  Maimie,  you  will  need  to  see 
the  notes;  and  I  will  sit  here,"  planting  himself  beside 
his  mother. 

So  Hughie  arranged  it  all,  and  for  an  hour  the 
singing  went  on,  the  favorite  hymns  of  each  being 
sung  in  turn.  For  the  most  part,  Mrs.  Murray  sat 
silent,  but  now  and  then  she  would  join  with  the 
others,  singing  alto  when  she  did  so,  by  Hughie's 
special  direction.  Her  voice  was  not  strong,  but  it 
was  true,  mellow,  and  full  of  music.  Hughie  loved 
to  hear  her  sing  alto,  and  more  especially  because  he 
liked  to  join  in  with  her,  which  he  was  too  shy  to  do 
alone,  even  in  his  home,  and  which  he  would  never 

232 


SHE      WILL       NOT       FORGET 

think  of  doing  in  the  Bible  class,  or  in  the  presence  of 
any  of  the  boys  who  might,  for  this  reason,  think 
him  "proud."  When  they  came  to  Hughie's  turn, 
he  chose  the  hymn  by  Bliss,  recently  published, 
"Whosoever  will,"  the  words  seemed  to  strike  him 
to-night. 

''Mother,"  he  said,  after  singing  it  through,  "does 
that  mean  everybody  that  likes?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  any  one  that  wishes." 

"Pharaoh,  mother?" 

"Yes,  Pharaoh,  too." 

"But,  mother,  you  said  he  could  not  possibly." 

"Only  because  he  did  not  want  to." 

"But  he  could  not,  even  if  he  did  want  to." 

"I  hope  I  did  not  say  that,"  said  his  mother,  smil- 
ing at  the  eager  and  earnest  young  face. 

"No,  auntie,"  said  Harry,  taking  up  Hughie's 
cause,  "not  exactly,  but  something  very  like  it.  You 
said  that  Pharaoh  could  not  possibly  have  acted  in 
any  other  way  than  he  did." 

"Yes,  I  said  that." 

"Not  even  if  he  wanted  to?"  asked  Hughie. 

"Oh,  I  did  not  say  that." 

"The  Lord  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart,"  quoted 
Ranald,  who  knew  his  Bible  better  than  Harry. 

''Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  Harry,  "and  so  that  made 
it  impossible  for  Pharaoh  to  do  anything  else.  He 
could  not  help  following  after  those  people." 

"Why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Murray.  "What  made 
him  follow?  Now  just  think,  what  made  him  follow 
after  those  people?" 

233 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Why,  he  wanted  to  get  them  back,"  said  Hughie. 

"Quite  true,"  said  his  mother.  "So  you  see,  he 
did  exactly  as  he  wanted  to." 

"Then  you  mean  the  Lord  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it?"  asked  Ranald. 

"No,  I  could  not  say  that." 

"Then,"  said  Harry,  "Pharaoh  could  not  help 
himself.  Now,  could  he?" 

"He  did  what  he  wished  to  do,"  said  his  aunt. 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  quickly,  "but  could  he  help 
wishing  to  do  what  he  did?" 

"If  he  had  been  a  different  man,  more  humble 
minded,  and  more  willing  to  be  taught,  he  would  not 
have  wished  to  do  what  he  did." 

"Mother,"  said  Hughie,  changing  his  ground  a 
little,  and  lowering  his  voice,  "do  you  think  Pharaoh 
is  lost,  and  all  his  soldiers,  and — and  all  the  people 
who  were  bad?" 

Mrs.  Murray  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a  few 
moments,  then  said,  very  sadly,  "I  can't  answer  that 
question,  Hughie.  I  do  not  know." 

"But,  mother,"  persisted  Hughie,  "are  not  wicked 
people  lost?" 

"Yes,  Hughie,"  replied  his  mother,  "all  those  who 
do  not  repent  of  their  sins  and  cry  to  God  for 
mercy." 

"Oh,  mother,"  cried  Hughie,  "forever?" 

His  mother  did  not  reply. 

"Will  He  never  let  them  out,  mother?"  continued 
Hughie,  in  piteous  appeal. 

"Listen  to  me,  Hughie,"  said  his  mother,  very 
234 


SHE      WILL      NOT      FORGET 

gently.  "We  know  very  little  about  this.  Would 
you  be  very  sorry,  even  for  very  bad  men?" 

"Oh,  mother,"  cried  Hughie,  his  tender  little  heart 
moved  with  a  great  compassion,  "think  of  a  whole 
year,  all  summer  long,  and  all  winter  long.  I  think 
I  would  let  anybody  out." 

"Then,  Hughie,  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "remem- 
ber that  God  is  much  kinder  than  you  are,  and  has  a 
heart  far  more  tender,  and  while  He  will  be  just  and 
must  punish  sin,  He  will  do  nothing  unjust  or  unkind, 
you  may  be  quite  sure  of  that.  Do  not  forget  how 
He  gave  up  His  own  dear  son  for  us." 

Poor  Hughie  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  put  his 
head  in  his  mother's  lap  and  sobbed  out,  "Oh,  mother, 
I  hope  he  will  let  them  out." 

As  he  uttered  this  pitiful  little  cry,  his  cousin 
Harry  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  moved  across  to  the 
window,  while  Maimie  openly  wiped  her  eyes,  but 
Ranald  sat  with  his  face  set  hard,  and  his  eyes  gleam- 
ing, waiting  eagerly  for  Mrs.  Murray's  answer. 

The  mother  stroked  Hughie's  head  softly,  and 
while  her  tears  fell  on  the  brown  curls,  said  to  him, 
"You  would  not  be  afraid  to  trust  your  mother, 
Hughie,  and  our  Father  in  heaven  loves  us  all  much 
more  than  I  love  you." 

And  with  that  Hughie  was  content. 

"Now  let  us  sing  one  more  hymn,"  said  his 
mother.  "It's  my  choice."  And  she  chose  one  of 
the  new  hymns  which  they  had  just  learned  in  the 
singing  school,  and  of  which  Hughie  was  very  fond, 
the  children's  hymn,  "Come  to  the  Saviour."  While 

235 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

they  were  singing  they  heard  Mr.  Murray  drive  into 
the  yard. 

"There's  papa,"  said  Mrs.  Murray.  "He  will  be 
tired  and  hungry,"  and  she  hurried  out  to  meet  her 
husband,  followed  by  Harry  and  Hughie,  leaving 
Ranald  and  Maimie  in  the  room  together.  Ranald 
had  never  been  alone  with  her  before,  nor  indeed  had 
he  ever  spent  five  minutes  of  his  life  alone  with  any 
girl  before  now.  But  he  did  not  feel  awkward  or  shy ; 
he  was  thinking  now,  as  he  had  been  thinking  now 
and  then  through  the  whole  evening,  of  only  one  thing, 
that  Maimie  was  going  away.  That  would  make  a 
great  difference  to  him,  so  great  that  he  was  conscious 
of  a  heart-sinking  at  the  mere  thought  of  it.  During 
the  last  weeks,  his  life  had  come  to  move  about  a 
center,  and  that  center  was  Maimie;  and  now  that  she 
was  going  away,  there  would  be  nothing  left.  Noth- 
ing, that  is,  that  really  mattered.  But  the  question 
he  was  revolving  in  his  mind  was,  would  she  forget  all 
about  him.  He  knew  he  would  never  forget  her,  that 
was,  of  course,  impossible,  for  so  many  things  would 
remind  him  of  her.  He  would  never  see  the  moonlight 
falling  through  the  trees  as  it  fell  that  night  of  the 
sugaring-off,  without  thinking  of  her.  He  would 
never  see  the  shadows  in  the  evening,  or  hear  the  wind 
in  the  leaves,  without  thinking  of  her.  The  church 
and  the  minister's  pew,  the  manse  and  all  belonging 
to  it  would  remind  him  of  Maimie.  He  would  recall 
how  she  looked  at  different  times  and  places,  the  turn 
of  her  head,  the  way  her  hair  fell  on  her  neck,  her 
laugh,  the  little  toss  of  her  chin,  and  the  curve  in  her 

236 


SHE      WILL      NOT      FORGET 

lips.  He  would  remember  everything  about  her. 
Would  she  remember  him,  or  would  she  forget  him? 
That  was  the  question  burning  in  his  heart;  and  that 
question  he  must  have  settled,  and  this  was  the  time. 

But  though  these  thoughts  and  emotions  were  rush- 
ing through  his  brain  and  blood,  he  felt  strangely 
quiet  and  self-controlled  as  he  walked  over  to  her 
where  she  stood  beside  the  piano,  and  looking  into 
her  eyes  with  an  intensity  of  gaze  she  could  not  meet, 
said,  in  a  low,  quick  voice:  "You  are  going  away?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  so  startled  that  the  easy  smile 
with  which  she  had  greeted  him  faded  out  of  her  face. 
"In  two  weeks  I  shall  be  gone." 

"Gone!"  echoed  Ranald.  "Yes,  you  will  be  gone. 
Will  you  forget  me?"  His  tone  was  almost  stern. 

"Why,  no,"  she  said,  in  a  surprised  voice.  "Of 
course  not.  Did  not  you  save  my  life?  You  will  be 
far  more  likely  to  forget  me." 

"No,"  he  said,  simply,  as  if  that  possibility  need 
not  be  considered.  "I  will  never  forget  you.  I  will 
always  be  thinking  of  you.  Will  you  think  of  me?" 
he  persisted. 

"Why,  certainly.  Wouldn't  I  be  a  very  ungrate- 
ful girl  if  I  did  not?" 

"Ungrateful!"  exclaimed  Ranald,  impatiently. 
"What  I  did  was  nothing.  Forget  that.  Do  you 
not  understand  me?  I  will  be  thinking  of  you  every 
day,  in  the  morning  and  at  night,  and  I  never  thought 
of  any  one  else  before  for  a  day.  Will  you  be  think- 
ing of  me?" 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  kitchen,  and  they 
237 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

could  hear  the  minister  talking  to  Harry ;  and    some 
one  was  moving  toward  the  door. 

"Tell  me,  Maimie,  quick,"  said  Ranald,  and 
though  his  voice  was  intense  and  stern,  there  was 
appeal  in  it  as  well. 

She  took  a  step  nearer  him,  and  looking  up  into 
his  face,  said,  in  a  whisper,  "Yes,  Ranald,  I  will 
always  remember  you,  and  think  of  you." 

Swiftly,  almost  fiercely,  he  threw  his  arms  about 
her,  and  kissed  her  lips,  then  he  stood  back  looking  at 
her. 

"I  could  not  help  it,"  he  said,  boldly.  "You 
made  me." 

"Made  you?"  exclaimed  Maimie,  her  face  hot  with 
blushes. 

"Yes,  you  made  me.  I  could  not  help  it,"  he 
repeated.  "And  I  do  not  care  if  you  are  angry.  I 
am  glad  I  did  it." 

"Glad?"  echoed  Maimie  again,  not  knowing  what 
to  say. 

"Yes,  glad,"  he  said,  exultantly.     "Are  you?" 

She  made  no  reply.  The  door  opened  behind 
them.  She  sank  down  upon  the  piano-stool  and  let 
her  hands  fall  upon  the  keys. 

"Are  you?"  he  demanded,  ignoring  the  interrup- 
tion. 

With  her  head  low  down,  while  she  struck  the 
chords  of  the  hymn  they  had  just  sung,  she  said, 
hesitatingly,  "I  am  not  sorry." 

"Sorry  for  what?"  said  Harry. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Maimie,  lightly. 
238 


SHE      WILL       NOT       FORGET 

"Nobody  is,  if  he  has  got  any  sense." 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  came  in.  "Won't  you  stay  for 
supper,  Ranald?  You  must  be  hungry." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Ranald.     "I  must  go  now." 

He  shook  hands  with  an  ease  and  freedom  that  the 
minister  had  never  seen  in  him,  and  went  out. 

"That  young  man  is  coming  on,"  said  the  minister. 
"I  never  saw  any  one  change  and  develop  as  he  has  in 
the  last  few  months.  Let  me  see.  He  is  only  eight- 
een, isn't  he,  and  he  might  be  twenty-one."  The 
minister  spoke  as  if  he  were  not  too  well  pleased  with 
this  precocity  in  Ranald. 

But  little  did  Ranald  care.  That  young  man  was 
striding  homeward  through  the  night,  his  head  strik- 
ing the  stars.  His  path  lay  through  the  woods,  and 
when  he  came  to  the  "sugar  camp"  road,  he  stood 
still,  and  let  the  memories  of  the  night  when  he  had 
snatched  Maimie  from  the  fire  troop  through  his 
mind.  Suddenly  he  thought  of  Aleck  McRae,  and 
laughed  aloud. 

"Poor  Aleck, "  he  said.  Aleck  seemed  so  harm- 
less to  him  now.  And  then  he  stood  silent,  motion- 
less, looking  straight  toward  the  stars,  but  seeing  them 
not.  He  was  remembering  Maimie's  face  when  she 
said,  "Yes,  Ranald,  I  will  always  remember  you  and 
think  of  you"  ;  and  then  the  thought  of  what  followed, 
sent  the  blood  jumping  through  his  veins. 

"She  will  not  forget,"  he  said  aloud,  and  went  on 
his  way.  It  was  his  happy  night,  the  happiest  of  his 
life  thus  far,  and  he  would  always  be  happy.  What 
difference  could  anything  make? 

239 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  REVIVAL 

Those  last  days  of  Maimie's  visit  sped  by  on 
winged  feet.  To  Ranald  they  were  brimming  with 
happiness,  every  one  of  them.  It  was  the  slack  time 
of  the  year,  between  seeding  and  harvest,  and  there 
was  nothing  much  to  keep  him  at  home.  And  so, 
with  Harry,  his  devoted  companion,  Ranald  roamed 
the  woods,  hitching  up  Lizette  in  Yankee's  buckboard, 
put  her  through  her  paces,  and  would  now  and  then 
get  up  such  bursts  of  speed  as  took  Harry's  breath 
away ;  and  more  than  all,  there  was  the  chance  of  a 
word  with  Maimie.  He  had  lost  much  of  his  awk- 
wardness. He  went  about  with  an  air  of  mastery,  and 
why  not?  He  had  entered  upon  his  kingdom.  The 
minister  noticed  and  wondered ;  his  wife  noticed  and 
smiled  sometimes,  but  oftener  sighed,  wisely  keeping 
silence,  for  she  knew  that  in  times  like  this  the  best 
words  were  those  unspoken. 

The  happiest  day  of  all  for  Ranald  was  the  last, 
when,  after  a  long  tramp  with  Harry  through  the 
woods,  he  drove  him  back  to  the  manse,  coming  up 
from  the  gate  to  the  door  like  a  whirlwind. 

As  Lizette  stood  pawing  and  tossing  her  beautiful 
head,  Mrs.  Murray,  who  stood  with  Maimie  watching 
them  drive  up,  cried  out,  admiringly:  "What  a  beauty 
she  is!" 

340 


THE  REVIVAL 

"Isn't  she!"  cried  Harry,  enthusiastically.  "And 
such  a  flyer!  Get  in,  auntie,  and  see." 

"Do,"  said  Ranald;  "I  would  be  very  glad.  Just 
to  the  church  hill  and  back." 

"Go,  auntie,"  pleaded  Harry.  "She  is  wonder- 
ful." 

"You  go,  Maimie,"  said  her  aunt,  to  whom  every 
offered  pleasure  simply  furnished  an  opportunity  of 
thought  for  others. 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Harry,  impatiently.  "You 
might  gratify  yourself  a  little  for  once  in  your  life. 
Besides,"  he  added,  with  true  brotherly  blindness, 
"it's  you  Ranald  wants.  At  least  he  talks  enough 
about  you." 

"Yes,  auntie,  do  go!  It  will  be  lovely,"  chimed 
in  Maimie,  with  suspicious  heartiness. 

So,  with  many  protestations,  Mrs.  Murray  took 
her  place  beside  Ranald  and  was  whirled  off  like  the 
wind.  She  returned  in  a  very  few  minutes,  her  hair 
blown  loose  till  the  little  curls  hung  about  her  glowing 
face  and  her  eyes  shining  with  excitement. 

"Oh,  she  is  perfectly  splendid!"  she  exclaimed. 
"And  so  gentle.  You  must  go,  Maimie,  if  only  to 
the  gate."  And  Maimie  went,  but  not  to  turn  at 
even  the  church  hill. 

For  a  mile  down  the  concession  road  Ranald  let 
Lizette  jog  at  an  easy  pace  while  he  told  Maimie  some 
of  his  aims  and  hopes.  He  did  not  mean  to  be  a 
farmer  nor  a  lumberman.  He  was  going  to  the  city, 
and  there  make  his  fortune.  He  did  not  say  it  in 
words,  but  his  tone,  his  manner,  everything  about 

241 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

him,  proclaimed  his  confidence  that  some  day  he 
would  be  a  great  man.  And  Maimie  believed  him, 
not  because  it  seemed  reasonable,  or  because  there 
seemed  to  be  any  ground  for  his  confidence,  but  just 
because  Ranald  said  it.  His  superb  self-confidence 
wrought  in  her  assurance. 

"And  then,"  he  said,  proudly,  "I  am  going  to  see 
you." 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  will  not  wait  till  then,"  she 
answered. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  said.  "I  cannot  tell,  but  it 
does  not  matter  much.  I  will  be  always  seeing  you." 

"But  I  will  want  to  see  you,"  said  Maimie. 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  "I  know  you  will,"  as  if  that 
were  a  thing  to  be  expected.  "But  you  will  be  com- 
ing back  to  your  aunt  here."  But  of  this  Maimie 
could  not  be  sure. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will  come,"  he  said,  confidently; 
"I  am  sure  you  will  come.  Harry  is  coming,  and  you 
will  come,  too."  And  having  settled  this  point,  he 
turned  Lizette  and  from  that  out  gave  his  attention 
to  his  driving.  The  colt  seemed  to  realize  the  neces- 
sity of  making  a  display  of  her  best  speed,  and  without 
any  urging,  she  went  along  the  concession  road,  in- 
creasing her  speed  at  every  stride  till  she  wheeled  in 
at  the  gate.  Then  Ranald  shook  the  lines  over  her 
back  and  called  to  her.  Magnificently  Lizette  re- 
sponded, and  swept  up  to  the  door  with  such  splendid 
dash  that  the  whole  household  greeted  her  with  wav- 
ing applause.  As  the  colt  came  to  a  stand,  Maimie 
stepped  out  from  the  buckboard,  and  turning  toward 

242 


THE  REVIVAL 

Ranald,  said  in  a  low,  hurried  voice:  "O,  Ranald, 
that  was  splendid,  and  I  am  so  happy;  and  you  will 
be  sure  to  come?" 

"I  will  come,"  said  Ranald,  looking  down  into  the 
blue  eyes  with  a  look  so  long  and  steady  and  so  full 
of  passionate  feeling  that  Maimie  knew  he  would  keep 
his  word. 

Then  farewells  were  said,  and  Ranald  turned  away, 
Harry  and  Mrs.  Murray  watching  him  from  the  door 
till  he  disappeared  over  the  church  hill. 

"Well,  that's  the  finest  chap  I  ever  saw,"  said 
Harry,  with  emphasis.  "And  what  a  body  he  has! 
He  would  make  a  great  half-back." 

"Poor  Ranald!  I  hope  he  will  make  a  great  and 
good  man,"  said  his  aunt,  with  a  ring  of  sadness  in 
her  voice. 

"Why  poor,  auntie?" 

"I'm  sure  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  with  a  very 
uncertain  smile  playing  about  her  mouth.  Then  she 
went  upstairs  and  found  Maimie  sitting  at  the  window 
overlooking  the  church  hill,  and  once  more  she  knew 
how  golden  is  silence.  So  she  set  to  work  to  pack 
Maimie's  trunk  for  her. 

"It  will  be  a  very  early  start,  Maimie,"  she  said, 
"and  so  we  will  get  everything  ready  to-night." 

"Yes,  auntie,"  said  Maimie,  going  to  her  and  put- 
ting her  arms  about  her.  "How  happy  I  have  been, 
and  how  good  you  have  been  to  me!" 

"And  how  glad  I  have  been  to  have  you!"  said 
her  aunt. 

"Oh,  I  will  never  forget  you!  You  have  taught 
243 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

me  so  much  that  I  never  knew  before.  I  see  every- 
thing so  differently.  It  seems  easy  to  be  good  here, 
and,  oh!  I  wish  you  were  not  so  far  away  from  me, 
auntie.  I  am  afraid — afraid — " 

The  tears  could  no  longer  be  denied.  She  put  her 
head  in  her  aunt's  lap  and  sobbed  out  her  heart's  over- 
flow. For  an  hour  they  sat  by  the  open  trunk,  forget- 
ting all  about  the  packing,  while  her  aunt  talked  to 
Maimie  as  no  one  had  ever  talked  to  her  before ;  and 
often,  through  the  long  years  of  suffering  that  fol- 
lowed, the  words  of  that  evening  came  to  Maimie  to 
lighten  and  to  comfort  an  hour  of  fear  and  sorrow. 
Mrs.  Murray  was  of  those  to  whom  it  is  given  to  speak 
words  that  will  not  die  with  time,  but  will  live,  for 
that  they  fall  from  lips  touched  with  the  fire  of  God. 

Before  they  had  finished  their  talk  Harry  came  in, 
and  then  Mrs.  Murray  told  them  about  their  mother, 
of  her  beauty  and  her  brightness  and  her  goodness, 
but  mostly  of  her  goodness. 

"She  was  a  dear,  dear  girl,"  said  their  aunt,  "and 
her  goodness  was  of  the  kind  that  makes  one  think  of 
a  fresh  spring  morning,  so  bright,  so  sweet,  and  pure. 
And  she  was  beautiful,  too.  You  will  be  like  her, 
Maimie,"  and,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  softly,  "And, 
most  of  all,  she  loved  her  Saviour,  and  that  was  the 
secret  of  both  her  beauty  and  her  goodness." 

"Auntie,"  said  Harry,  suddenly,  "don't  you  think 
you  could  come  to  us  for  a  visit?  It  would  do 
father — I  mean  it  would  be  such  a  great  thing  for 
father,  and  for  me,  too,  for  us  all." 

Mrs.  Murray  thought  of  her  home  and  all  its  ties, 
244 


THE  REVIVAL 

and  then  said,  smiling:  "I  am  afraid,  Harry,  that 
could  hardly  be.  Besides,  my  dear  boy,  there  is  One 
who  can  always  be  with  you,  and  no  one  can  take  His 
place." 

"All  the  same,  I  wish  you  could  come,"  said 
Harry.  "When  I  am  here  I  feel  like  doing  some- 
thing with  my  life,  but  at  home  I  only  think  of  having 
fun." 

"But,  Harry,"  said  his  aunt,  "life  is  a  very  sacred 
and  very  precious  thing,  and  at  all  costs,  you  must 
make  it  worthy  of  Him  who  gave  it  to  you." 

Next  morning,  when  Harry  was  saying  "Farewell" 
to  his  aunt,  she  put  her  arms  round  him,  and  said: 
"Your  mother  would  have  wished  you  to  be  a  noble 
man,  and  you  must  not  disappoint  her." 

"I  will  try,  auntie,"  he  said,  and  could  say  no 
more. 

For  the  next  few  weeks  the  minister  and  his  wife 
were  both  busy  and  anxious.  For  more  than  eight 
years  they  had  labored  with  their  people  without  much 
sign  of  result.  Week  after  week  the  minister  poured 
into  his  sermons  the  strength  of  his  heart  and  mind, 
and  then  gave  them  to  his  people  with  all  the  fervor 
of  his  nature.  Week  after  week  his  wife,  in  her 
women's  meetings  and  in  her  Bible  class, lavished  freely 
upon  them  the  splendid  riches  of  her  intellectual  and 
spiritual*  powers,  and  together  in  the  homes  of  the 
people  they  wrought  and  taught.  At  times  it  seemed 
to  the  minister  that  they  were  spending  their  strength 
for  naught,  and  at  such  times  he  bitterly  grudged,  not 
his  own  toils,  but  those  of  his  wife.  None  knew 

245 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

better  than  he  how  well  fitted  she  was,  both  by  the 
native  endowments  of  her  mind  and  by  the  graces  of 
her  character,  to  fill  the  highest  sphere,  and  he  some- 
times grew  impatient  that  she  should  spend  herself 
without  stint  and  reap  no  adequate  reward. 

These  were  his  thoughts  as  he  lay  on  his  couch,  on 
the  evening  of  the  last  Sabbath  in  the  old  church,  after 
a  day's  work  more  than  usually  exhausting.  The 
new  church  was  to  be  opened  the  following  week. 
For  months  it  had  been  the  burden  of  their  prayers 
that  at  the  dedication  of  their  church,  which  had  been 
built  and  paid  for  at  the  cost  of  much  thought  and 
toil,  there  should  be  some  "signal  mark  of  the  divine 
acceptance."  No  wonder  the  minister  was  more  than 
usually  depressed  to-night. 

"There  is  not  much  sign  of  movement  among  the 
dry  bones,"  he  said  to  his  wife.  "They  are  as  dry 
and  as  dead  as  ever." 

His  wife  was  silent  for  some  time,  for  she,  too,  had 
her  moments  of  doubt  and  fear,  but  she  said :  "I  think 
there  is  some  sign.  The  people  were  certainly  much 
impressed  this  morning,  and  the  Bible  class  was  very 
large,  and  they  were  very  attentive." 

"So  they  are  every  day,"  said  the  minister,  rather 
bitterly.  "But  what  does  it  amount  to?  There  is  not 
a  sign  of  one  of  these  young  people  'coming  forward.' 
Just  think,  only  one  young  man  a  member  of  the 
church,  and  he  hasn't  got  much  spunk  in  him.  And 
many  of  the  older  men  remain  as  hard  as  the  nether 
millstone." 

"I  really  think,"  said  his  wife,  "that  a  number  of 
246 


THE  REVIVAL 

the  young  people  would  'come  forward'  if  some  one 
would  make  a  beginning.  They  are  all  very  shy." 

"So  you  always  say,"  said  her  husband,  with  a 
touch  of  impatience;  "but  there  is  no  shyness  in  other 
things,  in  their  frolics  and  their  fightings.  I  am  sure 
this  last  outrageous  business  is  enough  to  break  one's 
heart." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  his  wife. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  you  will  hear  soon  enough,  so  I 
need  not  try  to  keep  it  from  you.  It  was  Long  John 
Cameron  told  me.  It  is  strange  that  Hughie  has  not 
heard.  Indeed,  perhaps  he  has,  but  since  his  beloved 
Ranald  is  involved,  he  is  keeping  it  quiet." 

"What  is  it?"  said  his  wife,  anxiously. 

"Oh,  nothing  less  than  a  regular  pitched  battle 
between  the  McGregors  and  the  McRaes  of  the 
Sixteenth,  and  all  on  Ranald's  account,  too,  I  be- 
lieve." 

Mrs.  Murray  sat  in  silent  and  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. She  had  expected  much  from  Ranald.  Her 
husband  went  on  with  his  tale. 

"It  seems  there  was  an  old  quarrel  between  young 
Aleck  McRae  and  Ranald,  over  what  I  cannot  find 
out ;  and  young  Angus  McGregor,  who  will  do  any- 
thing for  a  Macdonald,  must  needs  take  Ranald's  part, 
with  the  result  that  that  hot-headed  young  fire-eater 
Aleck  McRae  must  challenge  the  whole  clan  McGregor. 
So  it  was  arranged, on  Sunday  morning,  too,  mind  you, 
two  weeks  ago,  after  the  service,  that  six  of  the  best 
of  each  side  should  meet  and  settle  the  business.  Of 
course  Ranald  was  bound  to  be  into  it,  and  begged 

247 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  pleaded  with  the  McGregors  that  he  should  be 
one  of  the  six;  and  I  hear  it  was  by  Yankee's  advice 
that  his  request  was  granted.  That  godless  fellow, 
it  seems,  has  been  giving  Ranald  daily  lessons  with 
the  boxing-gloves,  and  to  some  purpose,  too,  as  the 
fight  proved.  It  seems  that  young  Aleck  McRae, 
who  is  a  terrible  fighter,  and  must  be  forty  pounds 
heavier  than  Ranald,  was,  by  Ranald's  especial  desire 
and  by  Yankee's  arrangement,  pitted  against  the  boy, 
and  by  the  time  the  fight  was  over,  Ranald,  although 
beaten  and  bruised  to  a  'bloody  pulp,'  as  Long  John 
said,  had  Aleck  thoroughly  whipped.  And  nobody 
knows  what  would  have  happened,  so  fierce  was  the 
young  villain,  had  not  Peter  McGregor  and  Macdon- 
ald  Bhain  appeared  upon  the  scene.  It  appears  Aleck 
had  been  saying  something  about  Maimie,  Long  John 
did  not  know  what  it  was ;  but  Ranald  was  determined 
to  finish  Aleck  up  there  and  then.  It  must  have  been 
a  disgusting  and  terrible  sight ;  but  Macdonald  Bhain 
apparently  settled  them  in  a  hurry ;  and  what  is  more, 
made  them  all  shake  hands  and  promise  to  drop  the 
quarrel  thenceforth.  I  fancy  Ranald's  handling  of 
young  Aleck  McRae  did  more  to  bring  about  the 
settlement  than  anything  else.  What  a  lot  of  sav- 
ages they  are!"  continued  the  minister.  "It  really 
does  not  seem  much  use  to  preach  to  them." 

"We  must  not  say  that,  my  dear,"  said  his  wife, 
but  her  tone  was  none  too  hopeful.  "I  must  confess 
I  am  disappointed  in  Ranald.  Well,"  she  continued, 
"we  can  only  wait  and  trust." 

From  Hughie,  who  had  had  the  story  from  Don, 
248 


THE  REVIVAL 

and  who  had  been  pledged  to  say  nothing  of  it,  she 
learned  more  about  the  fight. 

"It  was  Aleck's  fault,  mother,"  he  said,  anxious 
to  screen  his  hero.  ' '  He  said  something  about  Maimie, 
that  Don  wouldn't  tell  me,  at  the  blacksmith  shop  in 
the  Sixteenth,  and  Ranald  struck  him  and  knocked 
him  flat,  and  he  could  not  get  up  for  a  long  time. 
Yankee  has  been  showing  him  how.  I  am  going  to 
learn,  mother,"  interjected  Hughie.  "And  then 
Angus  McGregor  took  Ranald's  part,  and  it  was  all 
arranged  after  church,  and  Ranald  was  bound  to  be  in 
it,  and  said  he  would  stop  the  whole  thing  if  not 
allowed.  Don  said  he  was  just  terrible.  It  was  an 
awful  fight.  Angus  McGregor  fought  Peter  McRae, 
Aleck's  brother,  you  know  and — " 

"Never  mind,  Hughie,"  said  his  mother.  "I 
don't  want  to  hear  of  it.  It  is  too  disgusting.  Was 
Ranald  much  hurt?" 

"Oh,  he  was  hurt  awful  bad,  and  he  was  going  to 
be  licked,  too.  He  wouldn't  keep  cool  enough,  and 
he  wouldn't  use  his  legs." 

"Use  his  legs?"  said  his  mother;  "what  do  you 
mean?" 

"That's  what  Don  says,  and  Yankee  made  him. 
Yankee  kept  calling  to  him,  'Now  get  away,  get  away 
from  him !  Use  your  legs!  Get  away  from  him!'  and 
whenever  Ranald  began  to  do  as  he  was  told,  then  he 
got  the  better  of  Aleck,  and  he  gave  Aleck  a  terrible 
hammering,  and  Don  said  if  Macdonald  Bhain  had  not 
stopped  them  Aleck  McRae  would  not  have  been  able 
to  walk  home.  He  said  Ranald  was  awful.  He  said 

249 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

he  never  saw  him  like  he  was  that  day.     Wasn't  it 
fine,  mother?" 

"Fine,  Hughie!"  said  his  mother.  "It  is  anything 
but  fine.  It  is  simply  disgusting  to  see  men  act  like 
beasts.  It  is  very,  very  sad.  I  am  very  much  dis- 
appointed in  Ranald." 

"But,  mother,  Ranald  couldn't  help  it.  And 
anyway,  I  am  glad  he  gave  that  Aleck  McRae  a  good 
thrashing.  Yankee  said  he  would  never  be  right  until 
he  got  it." 

"You  must  not  repeat  what  Yankee  says,"  said  his 
mother.  "I  am  afraid  his  influence  is  not  of  the  best 
for  any  of  those  boys." 

"Oh,  mother,  he  didn't  set  them  on,"  said  Hughie, 
who  wanted  to  be  fair  to  Yankee.  "It  was  when  he 
could  not  help  it  that  he  told  Ranald  how  to  do.  I 
am  glad  he  did,  too." 

"I  am  very,  very  sorry  about  it,"  said  his  mother, 
sadly.  It  was  a  greater  disappointment  to  her  than  she 
cared  to  acknowledge  either  to  her  husband  or  to  herself. 

But  the  commotion  caused  in  the  community  by 
the  fight  was  soon  swallowed  up  in  the  interest  aroused 
by  the  opening  of  the  new  church,  an  event  for  which 
they  had  made  long  and  elaborate  preparation.  The 
big  bazaar,  for  which  the  women  had  been  sewing  for 
a  year  or  more,  was  held  on  Wednesday,  and  turned 
out  to  be  a  great  success,  sufficient  money  being  real- 
ized to  pay  for  the  church  furnishing,  which  they  had 
undertaken  to  provide. 

The  day  following  was  the  first  of  the  "Communion 
Season."  In  a  Highland  congregation  the  Com- 

250 


THE  REVIVAL 

munion  Seasons  are  the  great  occasions  of  the  year. 
For  weeks  before,  the  congregation  is  kept  in  mind  of 
the  approaching  event,  and  on  the  Thursday  of  the 
communion  week  the  season  opens  with  a  solemn  fast 
day. 

The  annual  Fast  Day,  still  a  national  institution  in 
Scotland,  although  it  has  lost  much  of  its  solemnity 
and  sacredness  in  some  places,  was  originally  associ- 
ated with  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  was  observed  with 
great  strictness  in  the  matter  of  eating  and  drinking; 
and  in  Indian  Lands,  as  in  all  congregations  of  that 
part  of  the  country,  the  custom  of  celebrating  the  Fast 
Day  was  kept  up.  It  was  a  day  of  great  solemnity  in 
the  homes  of  the  people  of  a  godly  sort.  There  was 
no  cooking  of  meals  till  after  "the  services,"  and 
indeed,  some  of  them  tasted  neither  meat  nor  drink 
the  whole  day  long.  To  the  younger  people  of  the 
congregation  it  was  a  day  of  gloom  and  terror,  a  kind 
of  day  of  doom.  Even  to  those  advanced  in  godliness 
it  brought  searchings  of  heart,  minute  and  diligent, 
with  agonies  of  penitence  and  remorse.  It  was  a  day, 
in  short,  in  which  conscience  was  invited  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  memory  and  the  imagination  to  the 
scourging  of  the  soul  for  the  soul's  good.  The  ser- 
mon for  the  day  was  supposed  to  stimulate  and  to  aid 
conscience  in  this  work. 

For  the  communion  service  Mr.  Murray  always 
made  it  a  point  to  have  the  assistance  of  the  best 
preachers  he  could  procure,  and  on  this  occasion, 
when  the  church  opening  was  combined  with  the 
sacrament,  by  a  special  effort  two  preachers  had  been 

251 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

procured — a  famous  divine  from  Huron  County,  that 
stronghold  of  Calvinism,  and  a  college  professor  who 
had  been  recently  appointed,  but  who  had  already 
gained  a  reputation  as  a  doctrinal  preacher,  and  who 
was,  as  Peter  McRae  reported,  "grand  on  the  Attri- 
butes and  terrible  fine  on  the  Law."  To  him  was 
assigned  the  honor  of  preaching  the  Fast  Day  sermon, 
and  of  declaring  the  church  "open." 

The  new  church  was  very  different  from  the  old. 
Instead  of  the  high  crow's  nest,  with  the  wonderful 
sounding-board  over  it,  the  pulpit  was  simply  a  raised 
platform  partly  inclosed,  with  the  desk  in  front. 
There  was  no  precentor's  box,  over  the  loss  of  which 
Straight  Rory  did  not  grieve  unduly,  inasmuch  as  the 
singing  was  to  be  led,  in  the  English  at  least,  by  John 
"Aleck."  Henceforth  the  elders  would  sit  with  their 
families.  The  elders'  seat  was  gone;  Peter  McRae's 
wrath  at  this  being  somewhat  appeased  by  his  securing 
for  himself  one  of  the  short  side  seats  at  the  right  of 
the  pulpit,  from  which  he  could  command  a  view  of 
both  the  minister  and  the  congregation — a  position 
with  obvious  advantages.  The  minister's  pew  was  at 
the  very  back  of  the  church. 

It  was  a  great  assemblage  that  gathered  in  the  new 
church  to  hear  the  professor  discourse,  as  doubtless  he 
would,  it  being  the  Fast  Day,  upon  some  theme  of 
judgment.  With  a  great  swing  of  triumph  in  his 
voice,  Mr.  Murray  rose  and  announced  the  Hundredth 
Psalm.  An  electric  thrill  went  through  the  congre- 
gation as,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  said:  "Let  us 
rise  and  sing.  Now,  John,  Old  Hundred." 

252 


THE  REVIVAL 

Never  did  John  "Aleck"  and  the  congregation  of 
Indian  Lands  sing  as  they  did  that  morning.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  the  congregation,  as  a  whole,  had 
followed  the  lead  of  that  great  ringing  voice,  and  they 
followed  with  a  joyous,  triumphant  shout,  as  of  men 
come  to  victory. 

"  For  why  ?    The  Lord  our  God  is  good," 
rolled  out  the  majestic  notes  of  Old  Hundred. 

"What's  the  matter,  mother?"  whispered  Hughie, 
who  was  standing  up  in  the  seat  that  he  might  look 
on  his  mother's  book. 

"Nothing,  darling,"  said  his  mother,  her  face  radi- 
ant through  her  tears.  After  long  months  of  toil  and 
waiting,  they  were  actually  singing  praise  to  God  in 
the  new  church. 

When  the  professor  arose,  it  was  an  eager,  respon- 
sive congregation  that  waited  for  his  word.  The 
people  were  fully  prepared  for  a  sermon  that  would 
shake  them  to  their  souls'  depths.  The  younger  por- 
tion shivered  and  shrank  from  the  ordeal;  the  older 
and  more  experienced  shivered  and  waited  with  not 
unpleasing  anticipations;  it  did  them  good,  that  re- 
morseless examination  of  their  hearts'  secret  depravi- 
ties. To  some  it  was  a  kind  of  satisfaction  offered  to 
conscience,  after  which  they  could  more  easily  come 
to  peace.  With  others  it  was  an  honest,  heroic  effort 
to  know  themselves  and  to  right  themselves  with  their 
God. 

The  text  was  disappointing.  "Above  all  these 
things,  put  on  charity,  which  is  the  bond  of  perfect- 
ness,"  read  the  professor  from  that  exquisite  and 

253 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

touching  passage  which  begins  at  the  twelfth  verse  of 
the  fifteenth  chapter  of  Colossians.  "Love,  the  bond 
of  perf ectness, "  was  his  theme,  and  in  simple,  calm, 
lucid  speech  he  dilated  upon  the  beauty,  the  excel- 
lence, and  the  supremacy  of  this  Christian  grace.  It 
was  the  most  Godlike  of  all  the  virtues,  for  God  was 
love;  and  more  than  zeal,  more  than  knowledge, 
more  than  faith,  it  was  "the  mark"  of  the  new  birth. 

Peter  McRae  was  evidently  keenly  disappointed, 
and  his  whole  bearing  expressed  stern  disapproval. 
And  as  the  professor  proceeded,  extolling  and  illus- 
trating the  supreme  grace  of  love,  Peter's  hard  face 
grew  harder  than  ever,  and  his  eyes  began  to  emit 
blue  sparks  of  fire.  This  was  no  day  for  the  preach- 
ing of  smooth  things.  The  people  were  there  to  con- 
sider and  to  lament  their  Original  and  Actual  sin ;  and 
they  expected  and  required  to  hear  of  the  judgments 
of  the  Lord,  and  to  be  summoned  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come. 

Donald  Ross  sat  with  his  kindly  old  face  in  a  glow 
of  delight,  but  with  a  look  of  perplexity  on  it  which 
his  furtive  glances  in  Peter's  direction  did  not  help  to 
lessen.  The  sermon  was  delighting  and  touching  him, 
but  he  was  not  quite  sure  whether  this  was  a  good 
sign  in  him  or  no.  He  set  himself  now  and  then  to 
find  fault  with  the  sermon,  but  the  preacher  was  so 
humble,  so  respectful,  and  above  all,  so  earnest,  that 
Donald  Ross  could  not  bring  himself  to  criticise. 

The  application  came  under  the  third  head.  As 
a  rule,  the  application  to  a  Fast  Day  sermon  was 
delivered  in  terrifying  tones  of  thunder  or  in  an  awful 

254 


THE  REVIVAL 

whisper.  But  to-day  the  preacher,  without  raising 
his  voice,  began  to  force  into  his  hearers'  hearts  the 
message  of  the  day. 

"This  is  a  day  for  self-examination,"  he  said,  and 
his  clear,  quiet  tones  fell  into  the  ears  of  the  people 
with  penetrating  power.  "And  self-examination  is  a 
wise  and  profitable  exercise.  It  is  an  exercise  of  the 
soul  designed  to  yield  a  discovery  of  sin  in  the  heart 
and  life,  and  to  induce  penitence  and  contrition  and 
so  secure  pardon  and  peace.  But  too  often,  my 
friends,"  and  here  his  voice  became  a  shade  softer, 
"it  results  in  a  self-righteous  and  sinful  self-complais- 
ance. What  is  required  is  a  simple  honesty  of  mind 
and  spiritual  illumination,  and  the  latter  cannot  be 
without  the  former.  There  are  those  who  are  ever 
searching  for  'the  marks'  of  a  genuinely  godly  state 
of  heart,  and  they  have  the  idea  that  these  marks  are 
obscure  and  difficult  for  plain  people  to  discover. 
Make  no  mistake,  my  brethren,  they  are  as  easily 
seen  as  are  the  apples  on  a  tree.  The  fruits  of  the 
spirit  are  as  discernible  to  any  one  honest  enough  and 
fearless  enough  to  look;  and  the  first  and  supreme  of 
all  is  that  which  we  have  been  considering  this  morn- 
ing. The  question  for  you  and  for  me,  my  brethren, 
is  simply  this:  Are  our  lives  full  of  the  grace  of  love? 
Do  not  shrink  from  the  question.  Do  not  deceive 
yourselves  with  any  substitutes ;  there  are  many  offer- 
ing zeal,  the  gift  of  prayer  or  of  speech,  yea,  the 
gift  of  faith  itself.  None  of  these  will  atone  for  the 
lack  of  love.  Let  each  ask  himself,  Am  I  a  loving 
man?" 

255 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

With  quiet  persistence  he  pursued  them  into  all 
their  relations  in  life — husbands  and  wives,  fathers  and 
sons,  neighbor  and  neighbor.  He  would  not  let  them 
escape.  Relentlessly  he  forced  them  to  review  their 
habits  of  speech  and  action,  their  attitude  toward  each 
other  as  church  members,  and  their  attitude  toward 
"those  without."  Behind  all  refuges  and  through  all 
subterfuges  he  made  his  message  follow  them,  search- 
ing their  deepest  hearts.  And  then,  with  his  face 
illumined  as  with  divine  fire,  he  made  his  final  appeal, 
while  he  reminded  them  of  the  Infinite  love  that  had 
stooped  to  save,  and  that  had  wrought  itself  out  in 
the  agonies  of  the  cross.  And  while  he  spoke  his  last 
words,  all  over  the  church  the  women  were  weeping, 
and  strong  men  were  sitting  trembling  and  pale. 

After  a  short  prayer,  the  professor  sat  down.  Then 
the  minister  rose,  and  for  some  little  time  stood  facing 
his  people  in  silence,  the  gleam  in  his  eyes  showing 
that  his  fervent  Highland  nature  was  on  fire. 

"My  people,"  he  began,  and  his  magnificent  voice 
pealed  forth  like  a  solemn  bell,  "this  is  the  message 
of  the  Lord.  Let  none  dare  refuse  to  hear.  It  is  a 
message  to  your  minister,  it  is  a  message  to  you. 
You  are  anxious  for  'the  marks.'  Search  you  for  this 
mark."  He  paused  while  the  people  sat  looking  at 
him  in  fixed  and  breathless  silence.  Then,  suddenly, 
he  broke  forth  into  a  loud  cry:  "Where  are  your  chil- 
dren at  this  solemn  time  of  privilege?  Fathers, 
where  are  your  sons?  Why  were  they  not  with  you 
at  the  Table?  Are  you  men  of  love?  Are  you  men 
of  love,  or  by  lack  of  love  are  you  shutting  the  door 

256 


THE  REVIVAL 

of  the  Kingdom  against  your  sons  with  their  fightings 
and  their  quarrelings?"  Then,  raising  his  hands  high, 
he  lifted  his  voice  in  a  kind  of  wailing  chant:  "Woe 
unto  you!  Woe  unto  you!  Your  house  is  left  unto 
you  desolate,  and  the  voice  of  love  is  crying  over  you. 
Ye  would  not!  Ye  would  not!  O,  Lamb  of  God, 
have  mercy  upon  us!  O,  Christ,  with  the  pierced 
hands,  save  us!"  Again  he  paused,  looking  up- 
ward, while  the  people  waited  with  uplifted  white 
faces. 

"Behold,"  he  cried,  in  a  soul-thrilling  voice,  "I  see 
heaven  open,  and  Jesus  standing  at  the  right  hand  of 
God,  and  I  hear  a  voice,  'Turn  ye,  turn  ye.  Why 
will  ye  die?'  Lord  Jesus,  they  will  not  turn." 
Again  he  paused.  "Listen.  Depart  from  me,  ye 
cursed,  into  everlasting  fire.  Depart  ye !  Nay,  Lord 
Jesus!  not  so!  Have  mercy  upon  us!"  His  voice 
broke  in  its  passionate  cry.  The  effect  was  over- 
whelming. The  people  swayed  as  trees  before  a 
mighty  wind,  and  a  voice  cried  aloud  from  the  con- 
gregation: "God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner!" 

It  was  Macdonald  Dubh.  At  that  loud  cry,  women 
began  to  sob,  and  some  of  the  people  rose  from  their 
seats. 

' '  Be  still, ' '  commanded  the  minister.  ' '  Rend  your 
hearts  and  not  your  garments.  Let  us  pray."  And 
as  he  prayed,  the  cries  and  sobs  subsided  and  a  great 
calm  fell  upon  all.  After  prayer,  the  minister,  instead 
of  giving  out  a  closing  psalm,  solemnly  charged  the 
people  to  go  to  their  homes  and  to  consider  that  the 
Lord  had  come  very  near  them,  and  adjured  them  not 

257 


THE      MAN     FROiM      GLENGARRY 

to  grieve  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God.     Then  he  dismissed 
them  with  the  benediction. 

The  people  went  out  of  the  church,  subdued  and 
astonished,  speaking,  if  at  all,  in  low  tones  of  what 
they  had  seen  and  heard. 

Immediately  after  pronouncing  the  benediction, 
the  minister  came  down  to  find  Macdonald  Dubh,  but 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  Toward  evening  Mrs. 
Murray  rode  over  to  his  house,  but  found  that  he  had 
not  returned  from  the  morning  service. 

"He  will  beat  his  brother's,"  said  Kirsty,  "and 
Ranald  will  drive  over  for  him." 

Immediately  Ranald  hitched  up  Lizette  and  drove 
over  to  his  uncle's,  but  as  he  was  returning  he  sent  in 
word  to  the  manse,  his  face  being  not  yet  presentable, 
that  his  father  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  It  was 
Macdonald  Bhain  that  found  him  at  last  in  the  woods, 
prone  upon  his  face,  and  in  an  agony. 

"Hugh,  man,"  he  cried,  "what  ails  you?"  But 
there  were  only  low  groans  for  answer. 

"Rise  up,  man,  rise  up  and  come  away." 

Then  from  the  prostrate  figure  he  caught  the 
words,  "Depart  from  me!  Depart  from  me!  That 
is  the  word  of  the  Lord." 

"That  is  not  the  word,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain, 
"for  any  living  man,  but  for  the  dead.  But  come, 
rise,  man;  the  neighbors  will  be  here  in  a  meenute." 
At  that  Black  Hugh  rose. 

"Let  me  away,"  he  said.  "Let  me  not  see  them. 
I  am  a  lost  man." 

And  so  his  brother  brought  him  home,  shaken  in 
258 


THE  REVIVAL 

spirit  and  exhausted  in  body  with  his  long  fast  and 
his  overpowering  emotion.  All  night  through  his 
brother  watched  with  him  alone,  for  Macdonald  Dubh 
would  have  no  one  else  to  see  him,  till,  from  utter 
exhaustion,  toward  the  dawning  of  the  day,  he  fell 
asleep. 

In  the  early  morning  the  minister  and  his  wife 
drove  over  to  see  him,  and  leaving  his  wife  with 
Kirsty,  the  minister  passed  at  once  into  Macdonald 
Dubh's  room.  But,  in  spite  of  all  his  reasoning,  in 
spite  of  all  his  readings  and  his  prayers,  the  gloom 
remained  unbroken  except  by  occasional  paroxysms 
of  fear  and  remorse. 

"There  is  no  forgiveness!  There  is  no  forgive- 
ness!" was  the  burden  of  his  cry. 

In  vain  the  minister  proclaimed  to  him  the  mercy 
of  God.  At  length  he  was  forced  to  leave  him  to 
attend  the  "Question  Meeting"  which  was  to  be  held 
in  the  church  that  day.  But  he  left  his  wife  behind 
him. 

Without  a  word,  Mrs.  Murray  proceeded  to  make 
the  poor  man  comfortable.  She  prepared  a  dainty 
breakfast  and  carried  it  in  to  him,  and  then  she  sat 
beside  him  while  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

It  was  afternoon  when  Macdonald  Dubh  awoke  and 
greeted  her  with  his  wonted  grave  courtesy. 

"You  are  better,  Mr.  Macdonald,"  she  said, 
brightly.  "And  now  I  will  make  you  a  fresh  cup  of 
tea";  and  though  he  protested,  she  hurried  out,  and 
in  a  few  moments  brought  him  some  tea  and  toast. 
Then,  while  he  lay  in  gloomy  silence,  she  read  to  him, 

259 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

as  she  did  once  before  from  his  Gaelic  psalm  book, 
without  a  word  of  comment.  And  then  she  began  to 
tell  him  of  all  the  hopes  she  had  cherished  in  connec- 
tion with  the  opening  of  the  new  church,  and  how 
that  day  she  had  felt  at  last  the  blessing  had  come. 

"And,  O,  Mr.  Macdonald, "  she  said,  "I  was  glad 
to  hear  you  cry,  for  then  I  knew  that  the  Spirit  of 
God  was  among  us." 

"Glad!"  said  Macdonald  Dubh,  faintly. 

"Yes,  glad.  For  a  cry  like  that  never  comes  but 
when  the  Spirit  of  God  moves  in  the  heart  of  a  man." 

"Indeed,  I  will  be  thinking  that  He  has  cast  me 
off  forever,"  he  said,  wondering  at  this  new  phase  of 
the  subject. 

"Then  you  must  thank  Him,  Mr.  Macdonald,  that 
He  has  not  so  done;  and  the  sure  proof  to  you  is  that 
He  has  brought  you  to  cry  for  mercy.  That  is  a  glad 
cry,  in  the  ears  of  the  Saviour.  It  is  the  cry  of  the 
sheep  in  the  wilderness,  that  discovers  him  to  the 
shepherd."  And  then,  without  argument,  she  took 
him  into  her  confidence  and  poured  out  to  him  all  her 
hopes  and  fears  for  the  young  people  of  the  congrega- 
tion, and  especially  for  Ranald,  till  Macdonald  Dubh 
partly  forgot  his  own  fears  in  hers.  And  then,  just 
before  it  was  time  for  Kirsty  to  arrive  from  the  "Ques- 
tion Meeting,"  she  took  her  Gaelic  Bible  and  opened 
at  the  Lord's  Prayer,  as  she  had  done  once  before. 

"It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  unforgiven,  Mr.  Mac- 
donald," she  said,  "by  man  or  by  God.  And  God 
is  unwilling  that  any  of  us  should  feel  that  pain,  and 
that  is  why  he  is  so  free  with  his  offer  of  pardon  to 

260 


THE  REVIVAL 

all  who  come  with  sorrow  to  him.  They  come  with 
sorrow  to  him  now,  but  they  will  come  to  him  some 
day  with  great  joy."  And  then  she  spoke  a  little  of 
the  great  company  of  the  forgiven  before  the  throne, 
and  at  the  very  last,  a  few  words  about  the  gentle 
little  woman  that  had  passed  out  from  Macdonald 
Dubh's  sight  so  many  years  before.  Then,  falling  on 
her  knees,  she  began  in  the  Gaelic, 

"Our  Father  which  art  in  Heaven." 

Earnestly  and  brokenly  Macdonald  Dubh  followed, 
whispering  the  petitions  after  her.  When  they  came 

to 

"  Forgive  us  our  debts,  as  we  forgive  our  debtors," 

Macdonald  Dubh  broke  forth:  "Oh,  it  is  a  little  thing, 
whatever!  It  is  little  I  have  to  forgive."  And  then, 
in  a  clear,  firm  voice,  he  repeated  the  words  after  her 
to  the  close  of  the  prayer. 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  rose,  and  taking  him  by  the 
hand  to  bid  him  good  by,  she  said,  slowly:  "  'For  if 
ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses,  your  heavenly  Father 
will  also  forgive  you  your  trespasses.'  You  have  for- 
given, Mr.  Macdonald." 

"Indeed,  it  is  nothing,"  he  said,  earnestly. 

"Then,"  replied  Mrs.  Murray,  "the  Lord  will  not 
break  his  promise  to  you."  And  with  that  she  went 
away. 

On  Saturday  morning  the  session  met  before  the 
service  for  the  day.  In  the  midst  of  their  deliber- 
ations the  door  opened  and  Macdonald  Bhain  and  his 
brother,  Macdonald  Dubh,  walked  in  and  stood  silent 

261 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

before  the  elders.  Mr.  Murray  rose  astonished,  and 
coming  forward,  said  to  Macdonald  Bhain:  "What  is 
it,  Mr.  Macdonald?  You  wish  to  see  me?" 

"I  am  here,"  he  said,  "for  my  own  sake  and  for 
my  brother's.  We  wish  to  make  confession  of  our 
sins,  in  that  we  have  not  been  men  of  love,  and  to 
seek  the  forgiveness  of  God." 

The  minister  stood  and  gazed  at  him  in  amazed 
silence  for  some  moments,  and  then,  giving  his  hand 
to  Macdonald  Dubh,  he  said,  in  a  voice  husky  with 
emotion:  "Come  away,  my  brother.  The  Lord  has 
a  welcome  for  you." 

And  there  were  no  questions  that  day  asked  in  the 
session  before  Macdonald  Dubh  received  his  token. 


262 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AND  THE  GLORY 

The  first  communion  in  the  new  church  was  marked 
by  very  great  solemnity.  There  were  few  new  mem- 
bers, but  among  the  older  men  who  had  hitherto  kept 
"back  from  the  table"  there  was  a  manifest  anxiety, 
and  among  the  younger  people  a  very  great  serious- 
ness. The  "coming  forward"  of  Macdonald  Dubh 
was  an  event  so  remarkable  as  to  make  a  great  impres- 
sion not  only  upon  all  the  Macdonald  men  who  had 
been  associated  with  him  so  many  years  in  the  lumber- 
ing, but  also  upon  the  whole  congregation,  to  whom 
his  record  and  reputation  were  well  known.  His 
change  of  attitude  to  the  church  and  all  its  interests, 
as  well  as  his  change  of  disposition  and  temperament, 
were  so  striking  as  to  leave  in  no  one's  mind  any 
doubt  as  to  the  genuineness  of  his  "change  of  heart," 
and  every  week  made  this  more  apparent.  A  solemn 
sense  of  responsibility  and  an  intensity  of  earnestness 
seemed  to  possess  him,  while  his  humility  and  gentle- 
ness were  touching  to  see. 

On  the  evening  of  Monday,  the  day  of  thanksgiv- 
ing in  the  Sacrament  Week,  a  great  congregation 
assembled  for  the  closing  meeting  of  the  Communion 
Season.  During  the  progress  of  the  meeting,  Mr. 
Murray  and  the  ministers  assisting  him  became  aware 
that  they  were  in  the  presence  of  some  remarkable 

263 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

and  mysterious  phenomenon.  The  people  listened  to 
the  Word  with  an  intensity,  response,  and  eagerness 
that  gave  token  of  a  state  of  mind  and  heart  wholly 
unusual.  Here  and  there,  while  the  psalms  were 
being  sung  or  prayers  being  offered,  women  and  men 
would  break  down  in  audible  weeping;  and  in  the 
preaching  the  speaker  was  conscious  of  a  power  pos- 
sessing him  that  he  could  not  explain. 

At  length  the  last  psalm  was  given  out,  and  the 
congregation,  contrary  to  their  usual  custom,  by  the 
minister's  direction,  rose  to  sing.  As  John  "Aleck" 
led  the  people  in  that  great  volume  of  praise,  the 
ministers  held  a  hasty  consultation  in  the  pulpit.  The 
professor  had  never  seen  anything  so  marvelous;  Mr. 
Murray  was  reminded  of  the  days  of  W.  C.  Burns. 
The  question  was,  What  was  to  be  done?  Should 
the  meetings  be  continued,  or  should  they  close  to- 
night? They  had  a  great  fear  of  religious  excitement. 
They  had  seen  something  of  the  dreadful  reaction 
following  a  state  of  exalted  religious  feeling.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  harvest,  too.  Would  it  be  advisable 
to  call  the  people  from  their  hard  work  in  the  fields  to 
nightly  meetings? 

At  length,  as  the  congregation  were  nearing  the 
close  of  the  psalm,  the  professor  spoke.  "Brethren," 
he  said,  "this  is  not  our  work.  Let  us  leave  it  to  the 
Lord  to  decide.  Put  the  question  to  the  people  and 
abide  by  their  decision." 

After  the  psalm  was  sung,  the  minister  motioned 
the  congregation  to  their  seats,  and  without  comment 
or  suggestion,  put  before  them  the  question  that  had 

264 


AND          THE          GLORY 

been  discussed  in  the  pulpit.  Was  it  their  desire  that 
the  meetings  should  be  continued  or  not?  A  deep, 
solemn  silence  lay  upon  the  crowded  church,  and  for 
some  time  no  one  moved.  Then  the  congregation 
were  startled  to  see  Macdonald  Dubh  rise  slowly  from 
his  place  in  the  middle  of  the  church. 

"Mr.  Murray,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  vibrated 
strangely,  "you  will  pardon  me  for  letting  my  voice 
be  heard  in  this  place.  It  is  the  voice  of  a  great  sin- 
ner." 

"Speak,  Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  the  minister,  "and 
I  thank  God  for  the  sound  of  your  voice  in  His  house." 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  make  any  speeches  here.  I 
will  only  make  bold  to  give  my  word  that  the  meet- 
ings be  continued.  It  may  be  that  the  Lord,  who 
has  done  such  great  things  for  me,  will  do  great 
things  for  others  also."  And  with  that  he  sat  down. 

"I  will  take  that  for  a  motion,"  said  the  minister. 
"Will  any  one  second  it?" 

Kenny  Crubach  at  once  rose  and  said:  "We  are 
always  slow  at  following  the  Lord.  Let  us  go  for- 
ward." 

The  minister  waited  for  some  moments  after  Kenny 
had  spoken,  and  then  said,  in  a  voice  grave  and  with 
a  feeling  of  responsibility  in  it:  "You  have  heard 
these  brethren,  my  people.  I  wait  for  the  expression 
of  your  desire." 

Like  one  man  the  great  congregation  rose  to  their 
feet.  It  was  a  scene  profoundly  impressive,  and  with 
these  serious-minded,  sober  people,  one  that  indicated 
overwhelming  emotion. 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

And  thus  the  great  revival  began. 

For  eighteen  months,  night  after  night,  every  night 
in  the  week  except  Saturday,  the  people  gathered  in 
such  numbers  as  to  fill  the  new  church  to  the  door. 
Throughout  all  the  busy  harvest  season,  in  spite  of  the 
autumn  rains  that  filled  the  swamps  and  made  the 
roads  almost  impassable,  in  the  face  of  the  driving 
snows  of  winter,  through  the  melting  ice  of  the  spring, 
and  again  through  the  following  summer  and  autumn, 
the  great  revival  held  on.  No  fictitious  means  were 
employed  to  stir  the  emotions  of  the  people  or  to 
kindle  excitement  among  them.  There  were  neither 
special  sermons  nor  revival  hymns.  The  old  doctrines 
were  proclaimed,  but  proclaimed  with  a  fullness  and 
power  unknown  at  other  times.  The  old  psalms  were 
sung,  but  sung  perhaps  as  they  had  never  been  before. 
For  when  John  "Aleck's"  mighty  voice  rolled  forth 
in  its  full  power,  and  when  his  band  of  trained  singers 
followed,  lifting  onward  with  them  the  great  congre- 
gation— for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  sang  with 
full  heart  and  open  throat — the  effect  was  something 
altogether  wonderful  and  worth  hearing.  Each  night 
there  was  a  sermon  by  the  minister,  who,  for  six 
months,  till  his  health  broke  down,  had  sole  charge  of 
the  work.  Then  the  sermon  was  followed  by  short 
addresses  or  prayers  by  the  elders,  and  after  that  the 
minister  would  take  the  men,  and  his  wife  the  women, 
for  closer  and  more  personal  dealing. 

As  the  revival  deepened  it  became  the  custom  for 
others  than  the  elders  to  take  part,  by  reading  a  psalm 
or  other  Scripture,  without  comment,  or  by  prayer. 

266 


AND          THE         GLORY 

There  was  a  shrinking  from  anything  like  a  violent 
display  of  emotion,  and  from  any  unveiling  of  the 
sacred  secrets  of  the  heart,  but  Scripture  reading  or 
quoting  was  supposed  to  express  the  thoughts,  the 
hopes,  the  fears,  the  gratitude,  the  devotion,  that 
made  the  religious  experience  of  the  speaker.  This 
was  as  far  as  they  considered  it  safe  or  seemly  to  go. 

One  of  the  first,  outside  the  ranks  of  the  elders,  to 
take  part  in  this  way  was  Macdonald  Dubh;  then 
Long  John  Cameron  followed;  then  Peter  McGregor 
and  others  of  the  men  of  maturer  years.  A  distinct 
stage  in  the  revival  was  reached  when  young  Aleck 
McRae  rose  to  read  his  Scripture.  He  was  quickly 
followed  by  Don,  young  Findlayson,  and  others  of 
that  age,  and  from  that  time  onward  the  old  line  that 
had  so  clearly  distinguished  age  from  youth  in  respect 
to  religious  duty  and  privilege,  was  obliterated  for- 
ever. It  had  been  a  strange,  if  not  very  doubtful, 
phenomenon  to  see  a  young  man  "coming  forward," 
or  in  any  way  giving  indication  of  religious  feeling. 
But  this  would  never  be  again. 

It  was  no  small  anxiety  and  grief  to  Mrs.  Murray 
that  Ranald,  though  he  regularly  attended  the  meet- 
ings, seemed  to  remain  unmoved  by  the  tide  of  relig- 
ious feeling  that  was  everywhere  surging  through  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  The  minister  advised  letting 
him  alone,  but  Mrs.  Murray  was  anxiously  waiting  for 
the  time  when  Ranald  would  come  to  her.  That 
time  came,  but  not  until  long  months  of  weary  wait- 
ing on  her  part,  and  of  painful  struggle  on  his,  had 
passed. 

267 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

From  the  very  first  of  the  great  movement  his 
father  threw  himself  into  it  with  all  the  earnest  inten- 
sity of  his  nature,  but  at  the  same  time  with  a  humil- 
ity that  gave  token  that  the  memory  of  the  wild  days 
of  his  youth  and  early  manhood  were  never  far  away 
from  him.  He  was  eager  to  serve  in  the  work,  and 
was  a  constant  source  of  wonder  to  all  who  had  known 
him  in  his  youth  and  early  manhood.  At  all  the 
different  meetings  he  was  present.  Nothing  could 
keep  him  away.  "Night  cometh, "  he  said  to  his 
brother,  who  was  remonstrating  with  him.  His  day's 
work  was  drawing  to  its  close. 

But  Ranald  would  not  let  himself  see  the  failing  of 
his  father's  health,  and  when,  in  the  harvest,  the 
slightest  work  in  the  fields  would  send  his  father  pant- 
ing to  the  shade,  Ranald  would  say,  "It  is  the  hot 
weather,  father.  When  the  cool  days  come  you  will 
be  better.  And  why  should  you  be  bothering  your- 
self with  the  work,  anyway?  Surely  Yankee  and  I 
can  look  after  that."  And  indeed  they  seemed  to  be 
quite  fit  to  take  off  the  harvest. 

Day  by  day  Ranald  swung  his  cradle  after  Yankee 
with  all  a  man's  steadiness  till  all  the  grain  was  cut; 
and  by  the  time  the  harvest  was  over,  Ranald  had 
developed  a  strength  of  muscle  and  a  skill  in  the  har- 
vest work  that  made  him  equal  of  almost  any  man  in 
the  country.  He  was  all  the  more  eager  to  have  the 
harvest  work  done  in  time,  that  his  father  might  not 
fret  over  his  own  inability  to  help.  For  Ranald  could 
not  bear  to  see  the  look  of  disappointment  that  some- 
times showed  itself  in  his  father's  face  when  weakness 

268 


AND          THE          GLORY 

drove  him  from  the  field,  and  it  was  this  that  made 
him  throw  himself  into  the  work  as  he  did.  He  was 
careful  also  to  consult  with  his  father  in  regard  to  all 
the  details  of  the  management  of  the  farm,  and  to  tell 
him  all  that  he  was  planning  to  do  as  well  as  all  that 
was  done.  His  father  had  always  been  a  kind  of  hero 
to  Ranald,  who  admired  him  for  his  prowess  with  the 
gun  and  the  ax,  as  well  as  for  his  great  strength  and 
courage.  But  ever  since  calamity  had  befallen  him, 
the  boy's  heart  had  gone  out  to  his  father  in  a  new 
tenderness,  and  the  last  months  had  drawn  the  two 
very  close  together.  It  was  a  dark  day  for  Ranald 
when  he  was  forced  to  face  the  fact  that  his  father 
was  growing  daily  weaker.  It  was  his  uncle,  Mac- 
donald  Bhain,  who  finally  made  him  see  it. 

"Your  father  is  failing,  Ranald,"  he  said  one  day 
toward  the  close  of  harvest. 

"It  is  the  hot  weather, "  said  Ranald.  "He  will 
be  better  in  the  fall." 

"Ranald,  my  boy,"  said  his  uncle,  gravely,  "your 
father  will  fade  with  the  leaf,  and  the  first  snow  will 
lie  upon  him." 

And  then  Ranald  fairly  faced  the  fact  that  before 
long  he  would  be  alone  in  the  world.  Without  any 
exchange  of  words,  he  and  his  father  came  to  under- 
stand each  other,  and  they  both  knew  that  they  were 
spending  their  last  days  on  earth  together.  On  the 
son's  side,  they  were  days  of  deepening  sorrow;  but 
with  the  father,  every  day  seemed  to  bring  him  a 
greater  peace  of  mind  and  a  clearer  shining  of  the 
light  that  never  fades.  To  his  son,  Macdonald  Dubh 

269 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

never  spoke  of  the  death  that  he  felt  to  be  drawing 
nearer,  but  he  often  spoke  to  him  of  the  life  he  would 
like  his  son  to  live.  His  only  other  confidant  in  these 
matters  was  the  minister's  wife.  To  her  Macdonald 
Dubh  opened  up  his  heart,  and  to  her,  more  than  to 
any  one  else,  he  owed  his  growing  peace  and  light ; 
and  it  was  touching  to  see  the  devotion  and  the 
tenderness  that  he  showed  to  her  as  often  as  she  came 
to  see  him.  With  his  brother,  Macdonald  Bhain,  he 
made  all  the  arrangements  necessary  for  the  disposal 
of  the  farm  and  the  payment  of  the  mortgage. 

Ranald  had  no  desire  to  be  a  farmer,  and  indeed, 
when  the  mortgage  was  paid  there  would  not  be  much 
left. 

"He  will  be  my  son,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain  to  his 
brother;  "and  my  home  will  be  his  while  I  live." 

So  in  every  way  there  was  quiet  preparation  for 
Macdonald  Dubh's  going,  and  when  at  last  the  day 
came,  there  was  no  haste  or  fear. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  a  bright  September  day, 
as  the  sun  was  nearing  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees  in 
the  west.  His  brother  was  supporting  him  in  his 
strong  arms,  while  Ranald  knelt  by  the  bedside.  Near 
him  sat  the  minister's  wife,  and  at  a  little  distance 
Kirsty. 

"Lift  me  up,  Tonal,"  said  the  dying  man;  "I  will 
be  wanting  to  see  the  sun  again,  and  then  I  will  be 
going.  I  will  be  going  to  the  land  where  they  will 
not  need  the  light  of  the  sun.  Tonal,  bhodaich,  it  is 
the  good  brother  you  have  been  to  me,  and  many's 
the  good  day  we  have  had  together." 

270 


AND          THE          GLORY 

"Och,  Hugh,  man.  Are  you  going  from  me?" 
said  Macdonald  Bhain,  with  great  sorrow  in  his  voice. 

"Aye,  Tonal,  for  a  little."  Then  he  looked  for  a 
few  moments  at  Kirsty,  who  was  standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed. 

"Come  near  me,  Kirsty,"  he  said;  and  Kirsty 
came  to  the  bedside. 

"You  have  always  been  kind  to  me  and  mine,  and 
you  were  kind  to  her  as  well,  and  the  reward  will  come 
to  you."  Then  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Murray,  and  said, 
with  a  great  light  of  joy  in  his  eyes:  "It  is  you  that 
came  to  me  as  the  angel  of  God  with  a  word  of  sal- 
vation, and  forever  more  I  will  be  blessing  you." 
And  then  he  added,  in  a  voice  full  of  tenderness,  "I 
will  be  telling  her  about  you."  He  took  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray's hand  and  tremblingly  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

"It  has  been  a  great  joy  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, with  difficulty  steadying  her  voice,  "to  see  you 
come  to  your  Saviour,  Mr.  Macdonald." 

"Aye,  I  know  it  well,"  he  said;  and  then  he  added, 
in  a  Voice  that  sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  "Now  you 
will  be  reading  the  prayer."  And  Mrs.  Murray, 
opening  her  Gaelic  Bible,  repeated  in  her  clear,  soft 
voice,  the  words  of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Through  all 
the  petitions  he  followed  her,  until  he  came  to  the 
words,  "Forgive  us  our  debts."  There  he  paused. 

"Ranald,  my  man,"  he  said,  raising  his  hand  with 
difficulty  and  laying  it  upon  the  boy's  head,  "you  will 
listen  to  me  now.  Some  day  you  will  find  the  man 
that  brought  me  to  this,  and  you  will  say  to  him  that 
your  father  forgave  him  freely,  and  wished  him  all  the 

271 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

blessing  of  God.  You  will  promise  me  this,  Ran- 
ald?" said  Macdonald  Dubh. 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Ranald,  lifting  his  head,  and 
looking  into  his  father's  face. 

"And,  Ranald,  you,  too,  will  be  forgiving  him?" 
But  to  this  there  was  no  reply.  Ranald's  head  was 
buried  in  the  bed. 

"Ah,"  said  Macdonald  Dubh,  with  difficulty, 
"you  are  your  father's  son;  but  you  will  not  be  lay- 
ing this  bitterness  upon  me  now.  You  will  be  forgiv- 
ing him,  Ranald?" 

"Oh,  father!"  cried  Ranald,  with  a  breaking  voice, 
"how  can  I  forgive  him?  How  can  I  forgive  the  man 
who  has  taken  you  away  from  me?" 

"It  is  no  man,"  replied  his  father,  "but  the  Lord 
himself;  the  Lord  who  has  forgiven  your  father  much. 
I  am  waiting  to  hear  you,  Ranald." 

Then,  with  a  great  sob,  Ranald  broke  forth:  "Oh, 
father,  I  will  forgive  him,"  and  immediately  became 
quiet,  and  so  continued  to  the  end. 

After  some  moments  of  silence,  Macdonald  Dubh 
looked  once  more  toward  the  minister's  wife,  and  a 
radiant  smile  spread  over  his  face. 

"You  will  be  finishing,"  he  said. 

Her  face  was  wet  with  tears,  and  for  a  few  moments 
she  could  not  speak.  But  it  was  no  time  to  fail  in 
duty,  so,  commanding  her  tears,  with  a  clear,  unwaver- 
ing voice  she  went  on  to  the  end  of  the  prayer — 

"For  thine  is  the  kingdom  and  the  power  and  the 
glory,  forever  and  ever.  Amen." 

' '  Glory ! ' '  said  Macdonald  Dubh  after  her.  ' '  Aye, 
272 


AND         THE          GLORY 

the  Glory.  Ranald,  my  boy,  where  are  you?  You 
will  be  following  me,  lad,  to  the  Glory.  She  will  be 
asking  me  about  you.  You  will  be  following  me, 
lad?" 

The  anxious  note  in  his  voice  struck  Ranald  to  the 
heart. 

"Oh,  father,  it  is  what  I  want,"  he  replied, 
brokenly.  "I  will  try." 

"Aye,"  said  Macdonald  Dubh,  "and  you  will 
come.  I  will  be  telling  her.  Now  lay  me  down,  Tonal ; 
I  will  be  going." 

Macdonald  Bhain  laid  him  quietly  back  on  his  pil- 
low, and  for  a  moment  he  lay  with  his  eyes  closed. 

Once  more  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  with  a  troubled 
look  upon  his  face,  and  in  a  voice  of  doubt  and  fear, 
he  cried:  "It  is  a  sinful  man,  O  Lord,  a  sinful  man." 

His  eyes  wandered  till,  they  fell  on  Mrs.  Murray's 
face,  and  then  the  trouble  and  fear  passed  out  of 
them,  and  in  a  gentler  voice  he  said:  "Forgive  us  our 
debts."  Then,  feeling  with  his  hand  till  it  rested 
on  his  son's  head,  Macdonald  Dubh  passed  away,  at 
peace  with  men  and  with  God. 

There  was  little  sadness  and  no  bitter  grief  at  Mac- 
donald Dubh's  funeral.  The  tone  all  through  was 
one  of  triumph,  for  they  all  knew  his  life,  and  how 
sore  the  fight  had  been,  and  how  he  had  won  his  vic- 
tory. His  humility  and  his  gentleness  during  the  last 
few  weeks  of  his  life  had  removed  all  the  distance  that 
had  separated  him  from  the  people,  and  had  drawn 
their  hearts  toward  him ;  and  now  in  his  final  triumph 
they  could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  mourn. 

273 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

But  to  Ranald  the  sadness  was  more  than  the 
triumph.  Through  the  wild,  ungoverned  years  of  his 
boyhood  his  father  had  been  more  than  a  father  to 
him.  He  had  been  a  friend,  sharing  a  common  lot, 
and  without  much  show  of  tenderness,  understanding 
and  sympathizing  with  him,  and  now  that  his  father 
had  gone  from  him,  a  great  loneliness  fell  upon  the 
lad. 

The  farm  and  its  belongings  were  sold.  Kirsty 
brought  with  her  the  big  box  of  blankets  and  linen 
that  had  belonged  to  Ranald's  mother.  Ranald  took 
his  mother's  Gaelic  Bible,  his  father's  gun  and  ax,  and 
with  the  great  deerhound,  Bugle,  and  his  colt,  Lizette, 
left  the  home  of  his  childhood  behind  him,  and  with 
his  Aunt  Kirsty,  went  to  live  with  his  uncle. 

Throughout  the  autumn  months  he  was  busy  help- 
ing his  uncle  with  the  plowing,  the  potatoes,  and  the 
fall  work.  Soon  the  air  began  to  nip,  and  the  night's 
frost  to  last  throughout  the  shortening  day,  and  then 
Macdonald  Bhain  began  to  prepare  wood  for  the  win- 
ter, and  to  make  all  things  snug  about  the  house  and 
barn;  and  when  the  first  fall  of  snow  fell  softly,  he 
took  down  his  broadax,  and  then  Ranald  knew  that 
the  gang  would  soon  be  off  again  for  the  shanties. 
That  night  his  uncle  talked  long  with  him  about  his 
future. 

"I  have  no  son,  Ranald,"  he  said,  as  they  sat 
talking;  "and,  for  your  father's  sake  and  for  your 
own,  it  is  my  desire  that  you  should  become  a  son  to 
me,  and  there  is  no  one  but  yourself  to  whom  the 
farm  would  go.  And  glad  will  I  be  if  you  will  stay 

274 


AND          THE          GLORY 

with  me.      But,  stay  or  not,  all  that  I   have  will  be 
yours,  if  it  please  the  Lord  to  spare  you." 

"I  would  want  nothing  better,"  said  Ranald, 
"than  to  stay  with  you  and  work  with  you,  but  I  do 
not  draw  toward  the  farm." 

"And  what  else  would  you  do,  Ranald?" 

"Indeed,  I  know  not,"  said  Ranald,  "but  some- 
thing else  than  farming.  But  meantime  I  should  like 
to  go  to  the  shanties  with  you  this  winter." 

And  so,  when  the  Macdonald  gang  went  to  the 
woods  that  winter,  Ranald,  taking  his  father's  ax, 
went  with  them.  And  so  clever  did  the  boy  prove 
himself  that  by  the  time  they  brought  down  their  raft 
in  the  spring  there  was  not  a  man  in  all  the  gang  that 
Macdonald  Bhain  would  sooner  have  at  his  back  in  a 
tight  place  than  his  nephew  Ranald.  And,  indeed, 
those  months  in  the  woods  made  a  man  out  of  the 
long,  lanky  boy,  so  that,  on  the  first  Sabbath  after  the 
shantymen  came  home,  not  many  in  the  church  that 
day  would  have  recognized  the  dark-faced,  stalwart 
youth  had  it  not  been  that  he  sat  in  the  pew  beside 
Macdonald  Bhain.  It  was  with  no  small  difficulty 
that  the  minister's  wife  could  keep  her  little  boy  quiet 
in  the  back  seat,  so  full  of  pride  and  joy  was  he  at  the 
appearance  of  his  hero ;  but  after  the  service  was  over, 
Hughie  could  be  no  longer  restrained.  Pushing  his 
way  eagerly  through  the  crowd,  he  seized  upon  Ranald 
and  dragged  him  to  his  mother. 

"Here  he  is,  mother!"  he  exclaimed,  to  Ranald's 
great  confusion,  and  to  the  amusement  of  all  about 
him.  "Isn't  he  splendid?" 

375 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

And  as  Ranald  greeted  Mrs.  Murray  with  quiet, 
grave  courtesy,  she  felt  that  his  winter  in  the  woods 
and  on  the  river  had  forever  put  behind  him  his  boy- 
hood, and  that  henceforth  he  would  take  his  place 
among  the  men.  And  looking  at  his  strong,  com- 
posed, grave  face,  she  felt  that  that  place  ought  not 
to  be  an  unworthy  one. 


276 


CHAPTER    XVII 

LENOIR'S  NEW  MASTER 

The  shantymen  came  back  home  to  find  the  revival 
still  going  on.  Not  a  home  but  had  felt  its  mighty 
power,  and  not  a  man,  woman,  or  even  child  but  had 
come  more  or  less  under  its  influence.  Indeed,  so 
universal  was  that  power  that  Yankee  was  heard  to 
say,  "The  boys  wouldn't  go  in  swimmin'  without 
their  New  Testaments' ' — not  but  that  Yankee  was  in 
very  fullest  sympathy  with  the  movement.  He  was 
regular  in  his  attendance  upon  the  meetings  all  through 
spring  and  summer,  but  his  whole  previous  history 
made  it  difficult  for  him  to  fully  appreciate  the  inten- 
sity and  depth  of  the  religious  feeling  that  was  every- 
where throbbing  through  the  community. 

"Don't  see  what  the  excitement's  for,"  he  said  to 
Macdonald  Bhain  one  night  after  meeting.  "Seems 
to  me  the  Almighty  just  wants  a  feller  to  do  the  right 
thing  by  his  neighbor  and  not  be  too  independent,  but 
go  'long  kind  o'  humble  like  and  keep  clean.  Some- 
thin'  wrong  with  me,  perhaps,  but  I  don't  seem  to  be 
able  to  work  up  no  excitement  about  it.  I'd  like  to, 
but  somehow  it  ain't  in  me." 

When  Macdonald  Bhain  reported  this  difficulty  of 
Yankee's  to  Mrs.  Murray,  she  only  said:  "  'What 
doth  the  Lord  require  of  thee,  but  to  do  justly,  and 
to  love  mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly  with  thy  God?'  ' 

277 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

And  with  this  Macdonald  Bhain  was  content,  and 
when  he  told  Yankee,  the  latter  came  as  near  to  excite- 
ment as  he  ever  allowed  himself.  He  chewed  vigor- 
ously for  a  few  moments,  then,  slapping  his  thigh,  he 
exclaimed:  "Byjings!  That's  great.  She's  all  right, 
ain't  she?  We  ain't  all  built  the  same  way,  but  I'm 
blamed  if  I  don't  like  her  model." 

But  the  shantymen  noticed  that  the  revival  had 
swept  into  the  church,  during  the  winter  months,  a 
great  company  of  the  young  people  of  the  congrega- 
tion ;  and  of  these,  a  band  of  some  ten  or  twelve  young 
men,  with  Don  among  them,  were  attending  daily  a 
special  class  carried  on  in  the  vestry  of  the  church  for 
those  who  desired  to  enter  training  for  the  ministry. 

Mrs.  Murray  urged  Ranald  to  join  this  class,  for, 
even  though  he  had  no  intention  of  becoming  a  minis- 
ter, still  the  study  would  be  good  for  him,  and  would 
help  him  in  his  after  career.  She  remembered  how 
Ranald  had  told  her  that  he  had  no  intention  of  being 
a  farmer  or  lumberman.  And  Ranald  gladly  listened 
to  her,  and  threw  himself  into  his  study,  using  his 
spare  hours  to  such  good  purpose  throughout  the 
summer  that  he  easily  kept  pace  with  the  class  in 
English,  and  distanced  them  in  his  favorite  subject, 
mathematics. 

But  all  these  months  Mrs.  Murray  felt  that  Ranald 
was  carrying  with  him  a  load  of  unrest,  and  she  waited 
for  the  time  when  he  would  come  to  her.  His  uncle, 
Macdonald  Bhain,  too,  shared  her  anxiety  in  regard 
to  Ranald. 

"He  is  the  fine,  steady  lad,"  he  said  one  night, 
278 


LsNOIR'S          NEW          MASTER 

walking  home  with  her  from  the  church;  "and  a  good 
winter's  work  has  he  put  behind  him.  He  is  that 
queeck,  there  is  not  a  man  like  him  on  the  drive;  but 
he  is  not  the  same  boy  that  he  was.  He  will  not  be 
telling  me  anything,  but  when  the  boys  will  be  sport- 
ing, he  is  not  with  them.  He  will  be  reading  his  book, 
or  he  will  be  sitting  by  himself  alone.  He  is  like  his 
father  in  the  courage  of  him.  There  is  no  kind  of 
water  he  will  not  face,  and  no  man  on  the  river  would 
put  fear  on  him.  And  the  strength  of  him!  His 
arms  are  like  steel.  But,"  returning  to  his  anxiety, 
"there  is  something  wrong  with  him.  He  is  not  at 
peace  with  himself,  and  I  wish  you  could  get  speech 
with  him." 

"I  would  like  it,  too,"  replied  Mrs.  Murray. 
"Perhaps  he  will  come  to  me.  At  any  rate,  I  must 
wait  for  that." 

At  last,  when  the  summer  was  over,  and  the  har- 
vest all  gathered  in,  the  days  were  once  more  shorten- 
ing for  the  fall,  Ranald  drove  Lizette  one  day  to  the 
manse,  and  went  straight  to  the  minister's  wife  and 
opened  up  his  mind  to  her. 

"I  cannot  keep  my  promise  to  my  father,  Mrs. 
Murray,"  he  said,  going  at  once  to  the  heart  of  his 
trouble.  "I  cannot  keep  the  anger  out  of  my  heart. 
I  cannot  forgive  the  man  that  killed  my  father.  I 
will  be  waking  at  night  with  the  very  joy  of  feeling 
my  fingers  on  his  throat,  and  I  feel  myself  longing  for 
the  day  when  I  will  meet  him  face  to  face  and  nothing 
between  us.  But,"  he  added,  "I  promised  my  father, 
and  I  must  keep  my  word,  and  that  is  what  I  cannot 

279 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

do,  for  the  feeling  of  forgiveness  is  not  here,"  smiting 
his  breast.  "I  can  keep  my  hands  off  him,  but  the 
feeling  I  cannot  help." 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Murray  let  him  go  on -without 
seeking  to  check  the  hot  flow  of  his  words  and  without 
a  word  of  reproof.  Then,  when  he  had  talked  him- 
self to  silence,  she  took  her  Bible  and  read  to  him  of 
the  servant  who,  though  forgiven,  took  his  fellow- 
servant  by  the  throat,  refusing  to  forgive.  And  then 
she  turned  over  the  leaves  and  read  once  more:  "  'God 
commendeth  his  love  toward  us,  in  that,  while  we 
were  yet  sinners,  Christ  died  for  us.'  ' 

She  closed  the  book  and  sat  silent,  waiting  for 
Ranald  to  speak. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  deliberately;  "I  have  read  that 
often  through  the  winter,  but  it  does  not  help  the 
feeling  I  have.  I  think  it  only  makes  it  worse. 
There  is  some  one  holding  my  arm,  and  I  want  to 
strike." 

"And  do  you  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  and  her 
voice  was  almost  stern,  "and  do  you  forget  how,  for 
you,  God  gave  His  Son  to  die?" 

Ranald  shook  his  head.  "I  am  far  from  forgetting 
that." 

"And  are  you  forgetting  the  great  mercy  of  God 
to  your  father?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Ranald;  "I  often  think  of  that. 
But  when  I  think  of  that  man,  something  stirs  within 
me  and  I  cannot  see,  for  the  daze  before  my  eyes,  and 
I  know  that  some  day  I  will  be  at  him.  I  cannot  help 
my  feeling." 

280 


LENOIR'S          NEW          MASTER 

"Ranald,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  "have  you  ever 
thought  how  he  will  need  God's  mercy  like  yourself? 
And  have  you  never  thought  that  perhaps  he  has 
never  had  the  way  of  God's  mercy  put  before  him? 
To  you  the  Lord  has  given  much,  to  him  little.  It 
is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  ungrateful  for  the  mercy  of 
God ;  and  it  is  a  shameful  thing.  It  is  unworthy  of 
any  true  man.  How  can  any  one  take  the  fullness 
of  God's  mercy  and  his  patience  every  day,  and  hold 
an  ungrateful  heart?" 

She  did  not  spare  him,  and  as  Ranald  sat  and 
listened,  his  life  and  character  began  to  appear  to  him 
small  and  mean  and  unworthy. 

"The  Lord  means  you  to  be  a  noble  man,  Ran- 
ald— a  man  with  the  heart  and  purpose  to  do  some 
good  in  the  world,  to  be  a  blessing  to  his  fellows ;  and 
it  is  a  poor  thing  to  be  so  filled  up  with  selfishness  as 
to  have  no  thought  of  the  honor  of  God  or  of  the  good 
of  men.  Louis  LeNoir  has  done  you  a  great  wrong, 
but  what  is  that  wrong  compared  with  the  wrong  you 
have  done  to  Him  who  loved  you  to  His  own  death?" 

Then  she  gave  him  her  last  word:  "When  you  see 
Louis  LeNoir,  think  of  God's  mercy,  and  remember 
you  are  to  do  him  good  and  not  evil." 

And  with  that  word  in  his  heart,  Ranald  went 
away,  ashamed  and  humbled,  but  not  forgiving.  The 
time  for  that  had  not  yet  come.  But  before  he  left 
for  the  shanties,  he  saw  Mrs.  Murray  again  to  say 
good  by.  He  met  her  with  a  shamed  face,  fearing 
that  she  must  feel  nothing  but  contempt  for  him. 

"You  will  think  ill  of  me,"  he  said,  and  in  spite  of 
281 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

his  self-control  his  voice  shook.  "I  could  not  bear 
that." 

"No,  I  could  never  think  ill  of  you,  Ranald, 
but  I  would  be  grieved  to  think  that  you  should 
fail  of  becoming  a  noble  man,  strong  and  brave; 
strong  enough  to  forgive  and  brave  enough  to 
serve." 

Once  more  Ranald  went  to  the  woods,  with  earnest 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  hoping  he  should  not  meet  Le- 
Noir,  and  fighting  out  his  battle  to  victory ;  and  by 
the  time  the  drive  had  reached  the  big  water  next 
spring,  that  battle  was  almost  over.  The  days  in  the 
silent  woods  and  the  nights  spent  with  his  uncle  in 
the  camp,  and  afterward  in  his  cabin  on  the  raft,  did 
their  work  with  Ranald. 

The  timber-cut  that  year  was  the  largest  that  had 
ever  been  known  on  the  Upper  Ottawa.  There  was 
great  crowding  of  rafts  on  the  drive,  and  for  weeks 
the  chutes  were  full,  and  when  the  rafts  were  all 
brought  together  at  Quebec,  not  only  were  the  shores 
lined  and  Timber  Cove  packed,  but  the  broad  river 
was  full  from  Quebec  to  Levis,  except  for  the  steam- 
boat way  which  must  be  kept  open. 

For  the  firm  of  Raymond  &  St.  Clair  this  meant 
enormous  increase  of  business,  and  it  was  no  small 
annoyance  that  at  this  crisis  they  should  have  detected 
their  Quebec  agent  in  fraud,  and  should  have  been 
forced  to  dismiss  him.  The  situation  was  so  critical 
that  Mr.  St.  Clair  himself,  with  Harry  as  his  clerk, 
found  it  necessary  to  spend  a  month  in  Quebec.  He 
took  with  him  Maimie  and  her  great  friend  Kate  Ray- 

282 


LENOIR'S          NEW         MASTER 

mond,  the  daughter  of  his  partner,   and  established 
himself  in  the  Hotel  Cheval  Blanc. 

On  the  whole,  Maimie  was  not  sorry  to  visit  the 
ancient  capital  of  Canada,  though  she  would  have 
chosen  another  time.  It  was  rather  disappointing  to 
leave  her  own  city  in  the  West,  just  at  the  beginning 
of  the  spring  gayeties.  It  was  her  first  season,  and 
the  winter  had  been  distinguished  by  a  series  of  social 
triumphs.  She  was  the  toast  of  all  the  clubs  and  the 
belle  of  all  the  balls.  She  had  developed  a  rare  and 
fascinating  beauty,  and  had  acquired  an  air  so  distingut 
that  even  her  aunt,  Miss  St.  Clair,  was  completely  satis- 
fied. It  was  a  little  hard  for  her  to  leave  the  scene  of 
her  triumphs  and  to  abandon  the  approaching  gayeties. 

But  Quebec  had  its  compensations,  and  then  there 
were  the  De  Lacys,  one  of  the  oldest  English  families 
of  Quebec.  The  St.  Clairs  had  known  them  for  many 
years.  Their  blood  was  unquestionably  blue,  they 
were  wealthy,  and  besides,  the  only  son  and  represen- 
tative of  the  family  was  now  lieutenant,  attached  to 
the  garrison  at  the  Citadel.  Lieutenant  De  Lacy  sug- 
gested possibilities  to  Maimie.  Quebec  might  be 
endurable  for  a  month. 

"What  a  lovely  view,  and  how  picturesque!" 

Maimie  was  standing  at  the  window  looking  down 
upon  the  river  with  its  fleet  of  rafts.  Beside  her  stood 
Kate,  and  at  another  window  Harry. 

"What  a  lot  of  timber!"  said  Harry.  "And  the 
town  is  just  full  of  lumbermen.  A  fellow  said  there 
must  be  six  thousand  of  them,  so  there  will  be  lots  of 
fun." 

283 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Fun!"  exclaimed  Kate. 

"Fun!  rather.  These  fellows  have  been  up  in  the 
woods  for  some  five  or  six  months,  and  when  they  get 
to  town  where  there  is  whisky  and — and — that  sort  of 
thing,  they  just  get  wild.  They  say  it  is  awful." 

"Just  horrible!"  said  Maimie,  in  a  disgusted  tone. 

"But  splendid,"  said  Kate;  "that  is,  if  they  don't 
hurt  any  one." 

"Hurt  anybody!"  exclaimed  Harry.  "Oh,  not  at 
all;  they  are  always  extremely  careful  not  to  hurt  any 
one.  They  are  as  gentle  as  lambs.  I  say,  let  us  go 
down  to  the  river  and  look  at  the  rafts.  De  Lacy  was 
coming  up,  but  it  is  too  late  now  for  him.  Besides, 
we  might  run  across  Maimie's  man  from  Glengarry." 

"Maimie'sman  from  Glengarry!"  exclaimed  Kate. 
"Has  she  a  man  there,  too?" 

"Nonsense,  Kate!"  said  Maimie,  blushing.  "He 
is  talking  about  Ranald,  you  know.  One  of  Aunt 
Murray's  young  men,  up  in  Glengarry.  You  have 
heard  me  speak  of  him  often." 

"Oh,  the  boy  that  pulled  you  out  of  the  fire,"  said 
Kate. 

"Yes,"  cried  Harry,  striking  an  attitude,  "and  the 
boy  that  for  love  of  her  entered  the  lists,  and  in  a 
fistic  tournament  upheld  her  fair  name,  and — " 

"Oh,  Harry,  do  have  some  sense!"  said  Maimie, 
impatiently.  "Hush,  here  comes  some  one;  Lieuten- 
ant De  Lacy,  I  suppose." 

It  was  the  lieutenant,  handsome,  tall,  well  made, 
with  a  high-bred  if  somewhat  dissipated  face,  an  air  of 
blast  indifference  a  little  overdone,  and  an  accent 

284 


L  E  N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW         MASTER 

which  he  had  brought  back  with  him  from  Oxford, 
and  which  he  was  anxious  not  to  lose.  Indeed,  the 
bare  thought  of  the  possibility  of  his  dropping  into 
the  flat,  semi-nasal  of  his  native  land  filled  the  lieuten- 
ant with  unspeakable  horror. 

"We  were  just  going  down  to  the  river,"  said 
Maimie,  after  the  introductions  were  over,  "but  I 
suppose  it  is  all  old  to  you,  and  you  would  not  care 
to  go?" 

"Aw,  charmed,  I'm  sure."  (The  lieutenant  pro- 
nounced it  "shuah.")  "But  it  is  rathaw,  don't  you 
know,  not  exactly  clean." 

"He  is  thinking  of  his  boots,"  said  Harry,  scorn- 
fully, looking  down  at  the  lieutenant's  shining  patent 
leathers. 

"Really,"  said  the  lieutenant,  mildly,  "awfully 
dirty  street,  though." 

"But  we  want  to  see  the  shantymen, "  said. Kate, 
frankly. 

"Oh,  the  men!  Very  proper,  but  not  so  very  dis- 
criminating, you  know." 

"I  love  the  shantymen,"  exclaimed  Kate,  enthusi- 
astically. "Maimie  told  me  all  about  them." 

"By  Jove!  I'll  join  to-morrow,"  exclaimed  the 
lieutenant  with  gentle  excitement. 

"They  would  not  have  you,"  answered  Kate. 
"Besides,  you  would  have  to  eat  pork  and  onions  and 
things." 

The  lieutenant  shuddered,  gazing  reproachfully  at 
Kate. 

"Onions!"  he  gasped;  "and  you  love  them?" 
'85 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Let  us  go  along,  then,"  said  Harry.  "We  will 
have  a  look  at  them,  anyway." 

"From  the  windward  side,  I  hope,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant, gently. 

"I  am  going  right  on  the  raft,"  declared  Kate, 
stoutly,  "if  we  can  only  find  Ranald." 

"Meaning  who,  exactly?"  questioned  De  Lacy. 

"A  lumberman  whom  Maimie  adores." 

"How  happy!"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Nonsense,  Lieutenant  De  Lacy,"  said  Maimie, 
impatiently  and  a  little  haughtily;  "he  is  a  friend  of 
my  aunt's  up  in  the  county  of  Glengarry." 

"No  nonsense  about  it,"  said  Harry,  indignant 
that  his  sister  should  seem  indifferent  to  Ranald. 
"He  is  a  great  friend  of  us  all;  and  you  will  see — she 
will  fly  into  his  arms." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  ejaculated  the  lieutenant,  much 
shocked. 

"Harry,  how  can  you  be  so — ?"  said  Maimie, 
much  annoyed.  "What  will  the  lieutenant  think  of 
me?" 

"Ah,  if  I  only  might  tell!"  said  the  lieutenant, 
looking  at  her  with  languishing  eyes.  But  already 
Kate  was  downstairs  and  on  her  way  to  the  street. 

As  they  neared  the  lower  town,  the  narrow  streets 
became  more  and  more  crowded  with  men  in  the 
shantymen's  picturesque  dress,  and  they  had  some 
difficulty  in  making  their  way  through  the  jolly,  jost- 
ling crowds.  As  they  were  nearing  the  river,  they 
saw  coming  along  the  narrow  sidewalk  a  burly  French- 
Canadian,  dressed  in  the  gayest  holiday  garb  of  the 

286 


L  E   N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW         MASTER 

shantymen — red  shirt  and  sash,  corduroys  tucked  into 
red  top-boots,  a  little  round  soft  hat  set  upon  the 
back  of  his  black  curls,  a  gorgeous  silk  handkerchief 
around  his  neck,  and  a  big  gold  watch-chain  with  seals 
at  his  belt.  He  had  a  bold,  handsome  face,  and 
swaggered  along  the  sidewalk,  claiming  it  all  with  an 
assurance  fortified  by  whisky  enough  to  make  him 
utterly  regardless  of  any  but  his  own  rights. 

"Hello!"  he  shouted,  as  he  swaggered  along. 
"Make  way,  I'm  de  boss  bully  on  de  reever  Hot- 
tawa."  It  was  his  day  of  glory,  and  it  evidently 
pleased  him  much  that  the  people  stood  aside  to  let 
him  pass.  Then  he  broke  into  song : — 

"  En  roulant  ma  boule  roulant, 
En  roulant  me  boule." 

"This,  I  suppose,  is  one  of  your  beloved  shanty- 
men,"  said  the  lieutenant,  turning  to  Kate,  who  was 
walking  with  Harry  behind. 

"Isn't  he  lovely!"  exclaimed  Kate. 

"Oh,"  cried  Maimie,  in  terror,  "let  us  get  into  a 
shop!" 

"Quite  unnecessary,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant, indifferently;  "I  have  not  the  least  idea  that 
he  will  molest  you." 

The  lumberman  by  this  time  had  swaggered  up  to 
the  party,  expecting  them  to  make  way,  but  instead, 
De  Lacy  stiffened  his  shoulder,  caught  the  Frenchman 
in  the  chest,  and  rolled  him  off  into  the  street.  Sur- 
prised and  enraged,  the  Frenchman  turned  to  demolish 
the  man  who  had  dared  to  insult  the  "boss  bully  on 
de  reever  Hottawa." 

28? 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Vous  n'avez  pas  remarque  la  demoiselle,"  said 
the  lieutenant,  in  a  tone  of  politeness. 

The  lumberman,  who  had  swaggered  up  ready  to 
strike,  glanced  at  Maimie,  took  off  his  hat,  and  made 
a  ceremonious  bow. 

"Ehbien!  Non!  Pardon,  Mams'elle." 

"Bon  jour,"  said  Lieutenant  De  Lacy,  with  a  mili- 
tary salute,  and  moved  on,  leaving  the  lumberman 
staring  after  them  as  if  he  had  seen  a  vision. 

"Beauty  and  the  Beast,"  murmured  the  lieutenant. 
"Thought  I  was  in  for  it,  sure.  Really  wonderful, 
don't  you  know!" 

"Do  you  think  we  had  better  go  on?"  said  Maimie, 
turning  to  Kate  and  Harry. 

"Why  not?     Why,  certainly!"  they  exclaimed. 

"These  horrid  men,"  replied  Maimie. 

"Dear  creatures!"  said  the  lieutenant,  glancing  at 
Kate  with  a  mildly  pathetic  look.  "Sweet,  but  not 
always  fragrant." 

"Oh,  they  won't  hurt  us.     Let  us  go  on." 

"Certainly,  go  on,"  echoed  Harry,  impatiently. 

"Safe  enough,  Miss  St.  Clair,  but,"  pulling  out 
his  perfumed  handkerchief,  "rather  trying." 

"Oh,  get  on,  De  Lacy,"  cried  Harry,  and  so  they 
moved  on. 

The  office  of  Raymond  &  St.  Clair  stood  near  the 
wharves.  Harry  paused  at  the  door,  not  quite  sure 
whether  to  go  in  or  not.  It  was  easy  to  discover 
work  in  that  office. 

"You  might  ask  if  Ranald  has  come,"  said  Kate. 
"Maimie  is  too  shy." 

288 


LENOIR'S         NEW         MASTER 

Harry  returned  in  a  few  moments,  quite  excited. 

"The  Macdonald  gang  are  in,  and  the  Big  Mac- 
donald  was  here  not  half  an  hour  ago,  and  Ranald  is 
down  at  the  raft  beyond  the  last  wharf.  I  know  the 
place." 

"Oh,  do  let  us  go  on!"  cried  Kate,  to  whom  Harry 
had  been  extolling  Ranald  on  the  way  down.  "You 
really  ought  to  inspect  your  timber,  Harry,  shouldn't 
you?" 

"Most  certainly,  and  right  away.  No  saying  what 
might  happen." 

"Awful  slush,"  said  the  lieutenant,  glancing  at 
Maimie's  face.  "Do  you  think  the  timber  wouldn't 
keep  for  a  week?" 

"Oh,  rubbish!  A  week!"  cried  Harry.  "He  is 
thinking  of  his  boots  again." 

To  be  quite  fair  to  the  lieutenant,  it  was  Maimie's 
doubtful  face,  rather  than  his  shiny  boots,  that 
made  him  hesitate.  She  was  evidently  nervous  and 
embarrassed.  The  gay,  easy  manner  which  was  her 
habit  was  gone. 

"I  think  perhaps  we  had  better  go,  since  we  are 
here,"  she  said,  doubtfully. 

"Exactly;  it  is  what  I  most  desired,"  said  the 
lieutenant,  gallantly. 

Scores  of  rafts  lay  moored  along  the  wharves  and 
shore,  and  hundreds  of  lumbermen  were  to  be  seen 
everywhere,  not  only  on  the  timber  and  wharves,  but 
crowding  the  streets  and  the  doors  of  the  little 
saloons. 

For  half  an  hour  they  walked  along,  watching  the 
289 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

men  at  work  with  the  timber  on  the  river.  Some 
were  loading  the  vessels  lying  at  anchor,  some  were 
shifting  the  loose  timber  about.  When  they  reached 
the  end  of  the  last  wharf,  they  saw  a  strapping  young 
lumberman,  in  a  shanty  costume  that  showed  signs  of 
the  woods,  running  some  loose  sticks  of  timber  round 
the  end  of  the  raft.  With  great  skill  he  was  handling 
his  pike,  walking  the  big  sticks  and  running  lightly 
over  the  timber  too  small  to  carry  him,  balancing  him- 
self on  a  single  stick  while  he  moved  the  timber  to  the 
bit  of  open  water  behind  the  raft,  and  all  with  a  grace 
and  dexterity  that  excited  Kate's  admiration  to  the 
highest  degree. 

"Rather  clever,  that,"  said  the  lieutenant,  lazily. 
"Hello!  close  call,  that;  ha!  bravo!"  It  was  not 
often  the  lieutenant  allowed  himself  the  luxury  of 
excitement,  but  the  lumberman  running  his  timber 
slipped  his  pike  pole  and  found  himself  balancing  on 
the  edge  of  open  water.  With  a  mighty  spring  he 
cleared  the  open  space,  touched  a  piece  of  small  tim- 
ber that  sank  under  him,  and  at  the  next  spring  landed 
safe  on  the  raft.  Maimie's  scream  sounded  with  the 
lieutenant's  "bravo."  At  the  cry  the  young  fellow 
looked  up.  It  was  Ranald. 

"Hello,  there!"  cried  Harry;  and  with  an  answer- 
ing shout,  Ranald,  using  his  pike  as  a  jumping-pole, 
cleared  the  open  space,  ran  lightly  over  the  floating 
sticks,  and  with  another  spring  reached  the  shore. 
Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  dropped  his  pole 
and  came  almost  running  toward  them,  his  face  radi- 
ant with  delight. 

290 


L  E   N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW         MASTER 

"Maimie!"  he  exclaimed,  holding  out  his  hand, 
wet  and  none  too  clean. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Maimie.  She  had  noticed 
the  look  of  surprise  and  mild  disgust  on  the  lieuten- 
ant's face,  and  she  was  embarrassed.  Ranald  was 
certainly  not  lovely  to  look  at.  His  shirt  was  open  at 
the  neck,  torn,  and  dirty.  His  trousers  and  boots 
were  much  the  worse  of  their  struggle  with  the  bush. 

"This  is  Mr.  Macdonald,  Lieutenant  De  Lacy," 
Maimie  hurried  to  say.  The  lieutenant  offered  a  limp 
hand. 

"Chawmed,  I'm  suah,"  he  murmured. 

"What?"  said  Ranald. 

"Lovely  weather,"  murmured  the  lieutenant  again, 
looking  at  his  fingers  that  Ranald  had  just  let  go. 

"Well,  old  chap,"  said  Harry,  grasping  Ranald's 
hand  and  throwing  his  arm  about  his  shoulder,  "I  am 
awfully  glad  to  find  you.  We  have  been  hunting  you 
for  half  an  hour.  But  hold  up,  here  you  are.  Let 
me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Kate  Raymond,  the  best 
girl  anywhere." 

Kate  came  forward  with  a  frank  smile.  "I  am 
very  glad  to  meet  you,"  she  said.  "I  have  heard  so 
much  about  you,  and  I  am  going  to  call  you  Ranald, 
as  they  all  do." 

"How  lovely!"  sighed  De  Lacy. 

Her  greeting  warmed  Ranald's  heart  that  somehow 
had  been  chilled  in  the  meeting.  Something  was 
wrong.  Was  it  this  fop  of  a  soldier,  or  had  Maimie 
changed?  Ranald  glanced  at  her  face.  No,  she  was 
the  same,  only  more  beautiful  than  he  had  dreamed. 

291 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

But  while  she  was  shaking  hands  with  him,  there 
flashed  across  his  mind  the  memory  of  the  first  time 
he  had  seen  her,  and  the  look  of  amusement  upon  her 
face  then,  that  had  given  him  such  deadly  offense. 
There  was  no  amusement  now,  but  there  was  embar- 
rassment and  something  else.  Ranald  could  not  define 
it,  but  it  chilled  his  heart,  and  at  once  he  began  to 
feel  how  badly  dressed  he  was.  The  torn  shirt,  the 
ragged  trousers,  and  the  old,  unshapely  boots  that  he 
had  never  given  a  thought  to  before,  now  seemed  to 
burn  into  his  flesh.  Unconsciously  he  backed  away 
and  turned  to  go. 

''Where  are  you  off  to?"  cried  Harry;  "do  you 
think  we  are  going  to  let  you  go  now?  We  had  hard 
enough  work  finding  you.  Come  up  to  the  office  and 
see  the  governor.  He  wants  to  see  you  badly." 

Ranald  glanced  at  the  lieutenant,  immaculate 
except  where  the  slush  had  speckled  his  shiny  boots, 
and  then  at  his  own  ragged  attire.  "I  think  I  will 
not  go  up  now,"  he  said. 

"Well,  come  up  soon,"  said  Maimie,  evidently 
relieved. 

"No!"  said  Kate,  impetuously,  "come  right  along 
now."  As  she  spoke  she  ranged  herself  beside  him. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Ranald  hesitated,  shot  a 
searching  glance  at  Maimie's  face,  and  then,  with  a 
reckless  laugh,  said,  "I  will  go  now,"  and  set  off 
forthwith,  Kate  proudly  marching  at  one  side,  and 
Harry  on  the  other,  leaving  Maimie  and  the  lieuten- 
ant to  follow  after. 

And  a  good  thing  it  was  for  Ranald  that  he  did  go 
292 


L  E   N  O  I  R  '  S         NEW         MASTER 

that  day  with  Harry  to  his  "governor's"  office. 
They  found  the  office  in  a  "swither, "  as  Harry  said, 
over  the  revelations  of  fraud  that  were  coming  to  light 
every  day — book-keeper,  clerk,  and  timber-checker 
having  all  been  in  conspiracy  to  defraud  the  company. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Harry?"  said  his  father  in 
an  annoyed  tone  as  his  son  entered  the  office.  "You 
don't  seem  to  realize  how  much  there  is  to  do  just 
now. ' ' 

"Looking  up  Ranald,  father,"  said  Harry,  cheer- 
fully. 

"Ah,  the  young  man  from  Glengarry?"  said  Mr. 
St.  Clair,  rising.  "I  am  glad  to  know  you,  and  to 
thank  you  in  person  for  your  prompt  courage  in  saving 
my  daughter." 

"Lucky  dog!"  groaned  the  lieutenant,  in  an  under- 
tone to  Maimie. 

Mr.  St.  Clair  spoke  to  Ranald  of  his  father  and  his 
uncle  in  words  of  highest  appreciation,  and  as  Ranald 
listened,  the  reckless  and  hard  look  which  had  been 
gathering  ever  since  his  meeting  with  Maimie  passed 
away,  and  his  face  became  earnest  and  touched  with  a 
tender  pride. 

"I  hear  about  you  frequently  from  my  sister,  Mr. 
Macdonald — or  shall  I  say  Ranald?"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair, 
kindly.  "She  apparently  thinks  something  of  you." 

"I  am  proud  to  think  so,"  replied  Ranald,  his  face 
lighting  up  as  he  spoke;  "but  every  one  loves  her. 
She  is  a  wonderful  woman,  and  good." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair,  "that's  it;  wonderful 
and  good." 

293 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

Then  Maimie  drew  nearer.  "How  is  auntie?"  she 
said.  "What  a  shame  not  to  have  asked  before!" 

"She  was  very  well  last  fall,"  said  Ranald,  looking 
keenly  into  Maimie's  face;  "but  she  is  working  too 
hard  at  the  meetings." 

"Meetings!"  exclaimed  Harry. 

"Aye,  for  a  year  and  more  she  has  been  at  them 
every  night  till  late." 

"At  meetings  for  a  year!  What  meetings?"  cried 
Harry,  astonished. 

"Oh,  Harry,  you  know  about  the  great  revival 
going  on  quite  well,"  said  Maimie. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  forgot.  What  a  shame!  What  is 
the  use  of  her  killing  herself  that  way?" 

"There  is  much  use,"  said  Ranald,  gravely. 
"They  are  making  bad  men  good,  and  the  whole 
countryside  is  new,  and  she  is  the  heart  of  it  all." 

"I  have  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair. 
"She  will  be  the  head  and  heart  and  hands  and 
feet." 

"You're  just  right,  governor,"  said  Harry,  warmly. 
"There  is  no  woman  living  like  Aunt  Murray." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Then  Mr. 
St.  Clair  said  suddenly:  "We  are  in  an  awful  fix  here. 
Not  a  man  to  be  found  that  we  can  depend  upon  for 
book-keeper,  clerk,  or  checker." 

Harry  coughed  slightly. 

' '  Oh,  of  course,  Harry  is  an  excellent  book-keeper, ' ' 
Harry  bowed  low;  "while  he  is  at  it,"  added  Mr. 
St.  Clair. 

"Very  neat  one,"  murmured  the  lieutenant. 
294 


L  E  N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW          MASTER 

"Now,  father,  do  not  spoil  a  fine  compliment  in 
that  way,"  cried  Harry. 

"But  now  the  checker  is  gone,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair, 
"and  that  is  extremely  awkward." 

"I  say,"  cried  Harry,  "what  will  you  give  me  for 
a  checker  right  now?" 

Mr.  St.  Clair  looked  at  him  and  then  at  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  St.  Clair,"  said  that  gentleman, 
holding  up  his  hand;  "I  used  to  check  a  little  at 
Rugby,  but — " 

"Not  you,  by  a  long  hand,"  interrupted  Harry, 
disdainfully. 

"This  awfully  charming  brother  of  yours,  so  very 
frank,  don't  you  know!"  said  the  lieutenant,  softly, 
to  Maimie,  while  they  all  laughed. 

"But  here  is  your  man,  governor,"  said  Harry, 
laying  his  hand  on  Ranald.' 

"Ranald!"  exclaimed  Mr.  St.  Clair.  "Why,  the 
very  man!  You  understand  timber,  and  you  are 
honest." 

"I  will  answer  for  both  with  my  head,"  said  Harry. 

"What  do  you  say,  Ranald?"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair. 
"Will  you  take  a  day  to  think  it  over?" 

"No,"  said  Ranald;  "I  will  be  your  checker." 
And  so  Ranald  became  part  of  the  firm  of  Raymond 
&  St.  Clair. 

"Come  along,  Ranald,"  said  Harry.  "We  will 
take  the  girls  home,  and  then  come  back  to  the  office." 

"Yes,  do  come,"  said  Kate,  heartily.  Maimie  said 
nothing. 

295 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"No,"  said  Ranald;  "I  will  go  back  to  the  raft 
first,  and  then  come  to  the  office.  Shall  I  begin  to- 
night?" he  said  to  Mr.  St.  Clair. 

"To-morrow  morning  will  do,  Ranald,"  said  Mr. 
St.  Clair.  "Come  up  to  the  hotel  and  see  us  to- 
night." But  Ranald  said  nothing.  Then  Maimie 
went  up  to  him. 

"Good  by,  just  now,"  she  said,  smiling  into  his 
face.  "You  will  come  and  see  us  to-night,  per- 
haps?" 

Ranald  looked  at  her,  while  the  blood  mounted 
slowly  into  his  dark  cheek,  and  said:  "Yes,  I  will 
come." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Maimie?"  said 
Harry,  indignantly,  when  they  had  got  outside. 
"You  would  think  Ranald  was  a  stranger,  the  way 
you  treat  him." 

"And  he  is  just  splendid!  I  wish  he  had  pulled 
me  out  of  the  fire,"  cried  Kate. 

"You  might  try  the  river,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
"I  fancy  he  would  go  in.  Looks  that  sort." 

"Go  in?"  cried  Harry,  "he  would  go  anywhere." 

The  lieutenant  made  no  reply.  He  evidently  con- 
sidered that  it  was  hardly  worth  the  effort  to  interest 
himself  in  the  young  lumberman,  but  before  he  was 
many  hours  older  he  found  reason  to  change  his 
mind. 

After  taking  the  young  ladies  to  their  hotel  there 
was  still  an  hour  till  the  lieutenant's  dinner,  so,  having 
resolved  to  cultivate  the  St.  Clair  family,  he  proposed 
accompanying  Harry  back  to  the  office. 

296 


LnNOIR'S         NEW          MASTER 

As  they  approached  the  lower  portion  of  the  town 
they  heard  wild  shouts,  and  sauntering  down  a  side 
street,  they  came  upon  their  French-Canadian  friend 
of  the  afternoon.  He  was  standing  with  his  .back 
against  a  wall  trying  to  beat  off  three  or  four  men, 
who  were  savagely  striking  and  kicking  at  him,  and 
crying  the  while:  "Gatineau!  Gatineau!" 

It  was  the  Gatineau  against  the  Ottawa. 

"Our  friend  seems  to  have  found  the  object  of  his 
search,"  said  the  lieutenant,  as  he  stood  across  the 
street  looking  at  the  melee. 

"I  say,  he's  a  good  one,  isn't  he?"  cried  Harry, 
admiring  the  Ottawa's  dauntless  courage  and  his  fight- 
ing skill. 

"His  eagerness  for  war  will  probably  be  gratified 
in  a  few  minutes,  by  the  look  of  things,"  replied  the 
lieutenant. 

The  Gatineaus  were  crowding  around,  and  had 
evidently  made  up  their  minds  to  bring  the  Ottawa 
champion  to  the  dust.  That  they  were  numbers  to  one 
mattered  not  at  all.  There  was  little  chivalry  in  a 
shantymen's  fight. 

"Ha!  Rather  a  good  one,  that,"  exclaimed  the 
lieutenant,  mildly  interested.  "He  put  that  chap  out 
somewhat  neatly."  He  lit  a  cigar  and  stood  coolly 
watching  the  fight. 

"Where  are  the  Ottawas — the  fellow's  friends?" 
said  Harry,  much  excited. 

"I  rather  think  they  camp  on  another  street  further 
down." 

The  Ottawa  champion  was  being  sorely  pressed, 
297 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  it  looked  as  if  in  a  moment  or  two  more  he  would 
be  down. 

"What  a  shame!"  cried  Harry. 

"Well,"  said  the  lieutenant,  languidly,  "it's 
beastly  dirty,  but  the  chap's  done  rather  well,  so  here 
goes." 

Smoking  his  cigar,  and  followed  by  Harry,  he 
pushed  across  the  street  to  the  crowd,  and  got  right 
up  to  the  fighters. 

"Here,  you  fellows,"  he  called  out,  in  a  high,  clear 
voice,  "what  the  deuce  do  you  mean,  kicking  up  such 
a  row?  Come  now,  stop,  and  get  out  of  here." 

The  astonished  crowd  stopped  fighting  and  fell 
back  a  little.  The  calm,  clear  voice  of  command  and 
her  majesty's  uniform  awed  them. 

"Mon  camarade!"  said  the  lieutenant,  removing 
his  cigar  and  saluting,  "rather  warm,  eh?" 

"You  bet!     Ver'  warm  tarn,"  was  the  reply. 

"Better  get  away,  mon  ami.  The  odds  are  rather 
against  you,"  said  the  lieutenant.  "Your  friends  are 
some  distance  down  the  next  street.  You  better  go 
along."  So  saying,  he  stepped  out  toward  the  crowd 
of  Gatineaus  who  were  consulting  and  yelling. 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  politely,  wav- 
ing his  little  cane.  Those  immediately  in  front  gave 
back,  allowed  the  lieutenant,  followed  by  the  Ottawa 
man  and  Harry,  to  pass,  and  immediately  closed  in 
behind.  They  might  have  escaped  had  it  not  been 
that  the  Ottawa  man  found  it  impossible  to  refrain 
from  hurling  taunts  at  them  and  inviting  them  to 
battle.  They  had  gone  not  more  than  two  blocks 


L  E  N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW          MASTER 

when  there  was  a  rush  from  behind,  and  before  they 
could  defend  themselves  they  were  each  in  the  midst 
of  a  .crowd,  fighting  for  their  lives.  The  principal 
attack  was,  of  course,  made  upon  the  Ottawa  man, 
but  the  crowd  was  quite  determined  to  prevent  the 
lieutenant  and  Harry  from  getting  near  him.  In  vain 
they  struggled  to  break  through  the  yelling  mass  of 
Gatineaus,  who  now  had  become  numerous  enough  to 
fill  the  street  from  wall  to  wall,  and  among  whom 
could  be  seen  some  few  of  the  Ottawa  men  trying  to 
force  their  way  toward  their  champion.  By  degrees 
both  Harry  and  De  Lacy  fought  their  way  to  the  wall, 
and  toward  each  other. 

"Looks  as  if  our  man  had  met  his  Waterloo,"  said 
the  lieutenant,  waiting  for  his  particular  man  to  come 
again. 

"What  a  lot  of  beasts  they  are!"  said  Harry,  dis- 
gustedly, beating  off  his  enemy. 

"Hello!  Here  they  come  again.  We  shall  have 
to  try  another  shot,  I  suppose,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
as  the  crowd,  which  had  for  a  few  moments  surged 
down  the  street,  now  came  crushing  back,  with  the 
Ottawa  leader,  and  some  half-dozen  of  his  followers  in 
the  center. 

"Well,  here  goes,"  said  De  Lacy,  leaving  the  wall 
and  plunginglnto  the  crowd,  followed  by  Harry.  As 
they  reached  the  center  a  voice  called  out:  "Abas 
les  Anglais!" 

And  immediately  the  cry,  a  familiar  enough  one  in 
those  days,  was  taken  up  on  all  sides.  The  crowd 
stiffened,  and  the  attack  upon  the  center  became  more 

299 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

determined  than  ever.  The  little  company  formed  a 
circle,  and  standing  back  to  back,  held  their  ground 
for  a  time. 

"Make  for  the  wall.  Keep  together,"  cried  De 
Lacy,  pushing  out  toward  the  side,  and  followed  by 
his  company.  But,  one  by  one,  the  Ottawas  were 
being  dragged  down  and  trampled  beneath  the 
"corked"  boots  of  their  foes,  till  only  two  of  them, 
with  their  leader,  beside  Harry  and  De  Lacy,  were  left. 

At  length  the  wall  was  gained.  There  they  faced 
about  and  for  a  time  held  their  lives  safe.  But  every 
moment  fresh  men  rushed  in  upon  them,  yelling  their 
cries,  "Gatineau!  Gatineau!  A  bas  les  Anglais!" 

The  Ottawa  leader  was  panting  hard,  and  he  could 
not  much  longer  hold  his  own.  His  two  companions 
were  equally  badly  off.  Harry  was  pale  and  bleeding, 
but  still  in  good  heart.  The  lieutenant  was  un- 
marked as  yet,  and  coolly  smoking  his  cigar,  but  he 
knew  well  that  unless  help  arrived  their  case  was 
hopeless. 

"We  can't  run,"  he  remarked,  calmly,  "but  a  dig- 
nified and  speedy  retreat  is  in  order  if  it  can  be  exe- 
cuted. There  is  a  shop  a  little  distance  down  here. 
Let  us  make  for  it." 

But  as  soon  as  they  moved  two  more  of  the  Otta- 
was were  dragged  down  and  trampled  on. 

"It  begins  to  look  interesting,"  said  the  lieutenant 
to  Harry.  "Sorry  you  are  into  this,  old  chap.  It 
was  rather  my  fault.  It  is  so  beastly  dirty,  don't  you 
know." 

"Oh,  fault  be  hanged!"  cried  Harry.  "It's  no- 
300 


LENOIR'S          NEW          MASTER 

body's  fault,  but  it  looks  rather  serious.  Get  back, 
you  brute!"  So  saying,  he  caught  a  burly  French- 
man under  the  chin  with  a  straight  left-hander  and 
hurled  him  back  upon  the  crowd. 

"Ah,  rather  pretty,"  said  the  lieutenant,  mildly. 
"It  is  not  often  you  can  just  catch  them  that  way." 
They  were  still  a  few  yards  from  the  shop  door,  but 
every  step  of  their  advance  had  to  be  fought. 

"I  very  much  fear  we  can't  make  it,"  said  the 
lieutenant,  quietly  to  Harry.  "We  had  better  back 
up  against  the  wall  here  and  fight  it  out." 

But  as  he  spoke  they  heard  a  sound  of  shouting 
down  the  street  a  little  way,  which  the  Ottawa  leader 
at  once  recognized,  and  raising  his  voice  he  cried: 
"Hottawa!  Hottawa!  Hottawa  a  moi!" 

Swiftly,  fiercely,  came  the  band  of  men,  some 
twenty  of  them,  cleaving  their  way  through  the  crowd 
like  a  wedge.  At  their  head,  and  taller  than  the 
others,  fought  two  men,  whose  arms  worked  with  the 
systematic  precision  of  piston-rods,  and  before  whom 
men  fell  on  either  hand  as  if  struck  with  sledge-ham- 
mers. 

"Hottawa  a  moi!"  cried  the  Ottawa  champion 
again,  and  the  relieving  party  faced  in  his  direc- 
tion. 

"I  say,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "that  first  man  is 
uncommonly  like  your  Glengarry  friend." 

"What,  Ranald?"  cried  Harry.  "Then  we  are  all 
right.  I  swear  it  is,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  remembering  the  story  of  the  great  fight  on 
the  Nation,  which  he  had  heard  from  Hughie  and 

301 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

Maimie,   he   raised   the   Macdonald  war-cry:    "Glen- 
garry!    Glengarry!" 

Ranald  paused  and  looked  about  him. 

"Here,  Ranald!"  yelled  Harry,  waving  his  white 
handkerchief.  Then  Ranald  caught  sight  of  him. 

"Glengarry!"  he  cried,  and  sprang  far  into  the 
crowd  in  Harry's  direction. 

"Glengarry!  Glengarry  forever!"  echoed  Yankee 
— for  he  it  was — plunging  after  his  leader. 

Swift  and  sharp  like  the  thrust  of  a  lance,  the  Glen- 
garry men  pierced  the  crowd,  which  gave  back  on 
either  side,  and  soon  reached  the  group  at  the  wall. 

"How  in  the  world  Aid  you  get  here?"  cried  Ran- 
ald to  Harry;  then,  looking  about  him,  cried:  "Where 
is  LeNware?  I  heard  he  was  being  killed  by  the 
Gatineaus,  and  I  got  a  few  of  our  men  and  came 
along." 

"LeNware?  That  is  our  Canadian  friend,  I  sup- 
pose," said  the  lieutenant.  "He  was  here  a  while 
ago.  By  Jove!  There  he  is." 

Surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  the  Gatineaus,  LeNoir, 
for  he  was  the  leader  of  the  Ottawas,  was  being  bat- 
tered about  and  like  to  be  killed. 

"Glengarry!"  cried  Ranald,  and  like  a  lion  he 
leaped  upon  them,  followed  by  Yankee  and  the  others. 
Right  and  left  he  hurled  the  crowd  aside,  and  seizing 
LeNoir,  brought  him  out  to  his  own  men. 

"Who  are  you?"  gasped  LeNoir.  "Why,  no,  it 
ees  not  possible.  Yes,  it  is  Yankee  for  sure !  And 
de  Macdonald  gang,  but — "  turning  to  Ranald — "who 
are  you?"  he  said  again. 

302 


L  E  N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW          MASTER 

"Never  mind,"  said  Ranald,  shortly,  "let  us  get 
away  now,  quick!  Go  on,  Yankee." 

At  once,  with  Yankee  leading,  the  Glengarry  men 
marched  off  the  field  of  battle  bearing  with  them  the 
rescued  party.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  The 
enemy  far  outnumbered  them,  and  would  soon  return 
to  the  attack. 

"But  how  did  you  know  we  were  in  trouble,  Ran- 
ald?" said  Harry  as  he  marched  along. 

"I  didn't  know  anything  about  you,"  said  Ranald. 
"Some  one  came  and  said  that  the  bully  of  the  Ottawa 
was  being  killed,  so  I  came  along." 

"And  just  in  time,  by  Jove!"  said  the  lieutenant, 
aroused  from  his  languor  for  once.  ' '  It  was  a  deucedly 
lucky  thing,  and  well  done,  too,  'pon  my  soul." 

That  night,  as  Ranald  and  his  uncle  were  in  their 
cabin  on  the  raft  talking  over  the  incidents  of  the  day, 
and  Ranald's  plans  for  the  summer,  a  man  stood  sud- 
denly in  the  doorway. 

"I  am  Louis  LeNoir, "  he  said,  "and  I  have  some 
word  to  say  to  de  young  Macdonald.  I  am  sore 
here,"  he  said,  striking  his  breast.  "I  cannot  spik 
your  languige.  I  cannot  tell."  He  stopped  short, 
and  the  tears  came  streaming  down  his  face.  "I 
cannot  tell,"  he  repeated,  his  breast  heaving  with 
mighty  sobs.  "I  would  be  glad  to  die — to  mak' 
over — to  not  mak' — I  cannot  say  de  word — what  I  do 
to  your  fadder.  I  would  give  my  life,"  he  said, 
throwing  out  both  his  hands.  "I  would  give  my  life. 
I  cannot  say  more." 

Ranald  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  few  moments  in 
303 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

silence  when  he  finished;  then  he  said  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly, "My  father  told  me  to  say  that  he  forgave 
you  everything,  and  that  he  prayed  the  mercy  of  God 
for  you,  and,"  added  Ranald,  more  slowly,  "I — for- 
give— you — too. " 

The  Frenchman  listened  in  wonder,  greatly  moved, 
but  he  could  only  reiterate  his  words:  "I  cannot  spik 
what  I  feel  here." 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  LeNoir, "  said  Macdonald  Bhain, 
gravely,  pointing  to  a  bench,  "and  I  will  be  telling  you 
something." 

LeNoir  sat  down  and  waited. 

"Do  you  see  that  young  man  there?"  said  Mac- 
donald Bhain,  pointing  to  Ranald.  "He  is  the  strongest 
man  in  my  gang,  and  indeed,  I  will  not  be  putting 
him  below  myself."  Here  Ranald  protested.  "And 
he  has  learned  to  use  his  hands  as  I  cannot.  And  of 
all  the  men  I  have  ever  seen  since  I  went  to  the 
woods,  there  is  not  one  I  could  put  against  him.  He 
could  kill  you,  Mr.  LeNoir." 

The  Frenchman  nodded  his  head  and  said:  "Das 
so.  Das  pretty  sure." 

"Yes,  that  is  very  sure,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain. 
"And  he  made  a  vow  to  kill  you,"  went  on  Macdon- 
ald Bhain,  "and  to-night  he  saved  your  life.  Do  you 
know  why?" 

"No,  not  me." 

"Then  I  will  be  telling  you.  It  is  the  grace  of 
God." 

LeNoir  stared  at  him,  and  then  Macdonald  Bhain 
went  on  to  tell  him  how  his  brother  had  suffered  and 

3°4 


LENOIR'S          NEW          MASTER 

struggled  long,  and  how  the  minister's  wife  had  come 
to  him  with  the  message  of  the  forgiveness  of  the 
great  God.  And  then  he  read  from  Ranald's  English 
Bible  the  story  of  the  unforgiving  debtor,  explaining 
it  in  grave  and  simple  speech. 

"That  was  why,"  he  concluded.  "It  was  because 
he  was  forgiven,  and  on  his  dying  bed  he  sent  you  the 
word  of  forgiveness.  And  that,  too,  is  the  very  reason, 
I  believe,  why  the  lad  here  went  to  your  help  this  day. " 

"I  promised  the  minister's  wife  I  would  do  you 
good  and  not  ill,  when  it  came  to  me,"  said  Ranald. 
"But  I  was  not  feeling  at  all  like  forgiving  you.  I 
was  afraid  to  meet  you." 

"Afraid?"  said  LeNoir,  wondering  that  any  of 
that  gang  should  confess  to  fear. 

"Yes,  afraid  of  what  I  would  do.  But  now,  to- 
night, it  is  gone,"  said  Ranald,  simply,  "I  can't  tell 
you  how." 

"Das  mos'  surprise!"  exclaimed  LeNoir.  "Ne 
comprenne  pas.  I  never  see  lak  dat,  me!" 

"Yes,  it  is  wonderful,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain. 
"It  is  very  wonderful.  It  is  the  grace  of  God,"  he 
said  again. 

"You  mak'  de  good  frien'  wit  me?"  asked  LeNoir, 
rising  and  putting  his  hand  out  to  Macdonald  Bhain. 
Macdonald  Bhain  rose  from  his  place  and  stepped 
toward  the  Frenchman,  and  took  his  hand. 

"Yes,  I  will  be  friends  with  you,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"and  I  will  seek  God's  mercy  for  you." 

Then  LeNoir  turned  to  Ranald,  and  said:  "Will 
you  be  frien'  of  me?  Is  it  too  moche?" 

305 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  slowly,  "I  will  be  your  friend, 
too.  It  is  a  little  thing,"  he  added,  unconsciously 
quoting  his  father's  words.  Then  LeNoir  turned 
around  to  Macdonald  Bhain,  and  striking  an  attitude, 
exclaimed:  "See!  You  be  my  boss,  I  be  your  man — 
what  you  call — slave.  I  work  for  noting,  me.  Das  sure." 

Macdonald  Bhain  shook  his  head. 

"You  could  not  belong  to  us,"  he  said,  and  ex- 
plained to  him  the  terms  upon  which  the  Macdonald 
men  were  engaged.  LeNoir  had  never  heard  of  such 
terms. 

"You  not  drink  whisky?" 

"Not  too  much,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain. 

"How  many  glass?     One,  two,  tree?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain.  "It 
depends  upon  the  man.  He  must  not  take  more  than 
is  good  for  him." 

"Bon!"  said  LeNoir,  "das  good.  One  glass  he 
mak'  me  feel  good.  Two  das  nice  he  mak'  me  feel 
ver  fonny.  Three  glass  yes  das  mak'  me  de  frien'  of 
hevery  bodie.  Four  das  mak'  me  feel  big;  I  walk  de 
big  walk;  I  am  de  bes'  man  all  de  place.  Das  good 
place  for  stop,  eh?" 

"No,"  said  Macdonald  Bhain,  gravely,  "you  need 
to  stop  before  that." 

"Ver'  good.  Ver'  good  me  stop  him  me.  You 
tak'  me  on  for  your  man?" 

Macdonald  Bhain  hesitated.  LeNoir  came  nearer 
him  and  lowering  his  voice  said:  "I'm  ver'  bad  man 
me.  I  lak  to  know  how  you  do  dat — what  you  say 
— forgive.  You  show  me  how." 

306 


L  E  N  O  I  R  '  S          NEW          MASTER 

"Come  to  me  next  spring, "  said  Macdonald  Bhain. 

"Bon!"  said  LeNoir.  "I  be  dere  on  de  Nation 
camp." 

And  so  he  was.  And  when  Mrs.  Murray  heard  of 
it  from  Macdonald  Bhain  that  summer,  she  knew  that 
Ranald  had  kept  his  word  and  had  done  LeNoir  good 
and  not  evil. 


307 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

HE  IS  NOT  OF  MY  KIND 

The  story  of  the  riot  in  which  Ranald  played  so 
important  a  part  filled  the  town  and  stirred  society 
to  its  innermost  circles — those  circles,  namely,  in 
which  the  De  Lacys  lived  and  moved.  The  whole 
town  began  talking  of  the  Glengarry  men,  and  espe- 
cially of  their  young  leader  who  had,  with  such  singu- 
lar ability  and  pluck,  rescued  the  Ottawas  with  Harry 
and  Lieutenant  De  Lacy,  from  their  perilous  position. 

The  girls  had  the  story  from  Harry's  lips,  and  in 
his  telling  of  it,  Ranald's  courage  and  skill  certainly 
lost  nothing;  but  to  Maimie,  while  it  was  pleasant 
enough  for  her  to  hear  of  Ranald's  prowess,  and  while 
she  enjoyed  the  reflected  glory  that  came  to  her  as  his 
friend,  the  whole  incident  became  altogether  hateful 
and  distressing.  She  found  herself  suddenly  famous 
in  her  social  world ;  every  one  was  talking  of  her,  but 
to  her  horror,  was  connecting  Ranald's  name  with 
hers  in  a  most  significant  way.  It  was  too  awful,  and 
if  her  Aunt  Frances  should  hear  of  it,  the  conse- 
quences would  be  quite  too  terrible  for  her  to  imagine. 
She  must  stop  the  talk  at  once.  Of  course  she  meant 
to  be  kind  to  Ranald;  he  had  done  her  great  service, 
and  he  was  her  Aunt  Murray's  friend,  and  besides, 
she  liked  him;  how  much  she  hardly  cared  to  say  to 
herself.  She  had  liked  him  in  Glengarry.  There  was 

308 


HE       IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

no  doubt  of  that,  but  that  was  two  years  ago,  and  in 
Glengarry  everything  was  different !  There  every  one 
was  just  as  good  as  another,  and  these  people  were  all 
her  Aunt  Murray's  friends.  Here  the  relations  were 
changed.  She  could  not  help  feeling  that  however 
nice  he  might  be,  and  however  much  she  might  like 
him,  Ranald  was  not  of  her  world. 

"Well,  tell  him  so;  let  him  see  that,"  said  Kate, 
with  whom  Maimie  was  discussing  her  difficulty. 

"Yes,  and  then  he  would  fly  off  and  I — we  would 
never  see  him  again,"  said  Maimie.  "He's  as  proud 


-any  one 


"Strange,  too,"  said  Kate,  "when  he  has  no 
money  to  speak  of!" 

"You  know  I  don't  mean  that,  and  I  don't  think 
it's  very  nice  of  you.  You  have  no  sympathy  with 
me!" 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  in  this  very  unpleasant  affair;  every  one  is 
talking  about  Ranald  and  me,  as  if  I — as  if  we  had 
some  understanding." 

"And  have  you  not?  I  thought — "  Kate  hesi- 
tated to  remind  Maimie  of  certain  confidences  she  had 
received  two  years  ago  after  her  friend  had  returned 
from  Glengarry. 

"Oh,  absurd — just  a  girl  and  boy  affair, "  said  Mai- 
mie, impatiently. 

"Then  there's  nothing  at  all,"  said  Kate,  with  a 
suspicion  of  eagerness  in  her  voice. 

"No,  of  course  not — that  is,  nothing  really 
serious. ' ' 

309 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Serious?  You  mean  you  don't  care  for  him  at 
all?"  Kate  looked  straight  at  her  friend. 

"Oh,  you  are  so  awfully  direct.  I  don't  know.  I 
do  care;  he's  nice  in  many  ways,  and  he's — I  know  he 
likes  me  and — I  would  hate  to  wound  him,  but  then 
you  know  he's  not  just  one  of  us.  You  know  what  I 
mean!" 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Kate,  quietly.  "Do  you 
mean  he  is  not  educated?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  mean  education  altogether. 
How  very  tiresome  you  are !  He  has  no  culture,  and 
manners,  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"I  think  he  has  very  fine  manners.  He  is  a  little 
quaint,  but  you  can't  call  him  rude." 

"Oh,  no,  he's  never  rude;  rather  abrupt,  but  oh, 
dear,  don't  you  know?  What  would  Aunt  Frank  say 
to  him?" 

Kate's  lip  curled  a  little.  "I'm  very  sure  I  can't 
say,  but  I  can  imagine  how  she  would  look." 

"Well,  that's  it—" 

"But,"  went  on  Kate,  "I  can  imagine,  too,  how 
Ranald  would  look  back  at  her  if  he  caught  her  mean- 
ing." 

"Well,  perhaps,"  said  Maimie,  with  a  little  laugh, 
"and  that's  just  it.  Oh,  I  wish  he  were — " 

"A  lieutenant?"  suggested  Kate. 

"Well,  yes,  I  do,"  said  Maimie,  desperately. 

"And  if  he  were,  you  would  marry  him,"  said 
Kate,  a  shade  of  contempt  in  her  tone  that  Maimie 
failed  to  notice. 

"Yes,  I  would." 

310 


HE       IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

Kate  remained  silent. 

"There  now,  you  think  I  am  horrid,  I  know,"  said 
Maimie.  "I  suppose  you  would  marry  him  if  he  were 
a  mere  nobody!" 

"If  I  loved  him,"  said  Kate,  with  slow  deliber- 
ation, and  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  "I'd  marry 
him  if  he  were — a  shantyman!" 

"I  believe  you  would,"  said  Maimie,  with  a  touch 
of  regret  in  her  voice;  "but  then,  you've  no  Aunt 
Frank!" 

"Thank  Providence,"  replied  Kate,  under  her 
breath. 

"And  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  offend  her.  Just 
listen  to  this."  Maimie  pulled  out  a  letter,  and  turn- 
ing over  the  pages,  found  the  place  and  began  to  read : 
"  T  am  so  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  enjoying  your 
stay  in  Quebec' — um-um-um — 'fine  old  city' — um- 
um-um — 'gates  and  streets,'  'old  days' — um-um-um — 
'noble  citadel,'  'glorious  view' — um-um-um-um — 
'finest  in  the  world' —  No,  that  isn't  it — Oh,  yes,  here 
it  is:  'The  De  Lacys  are  a  very  highly  connected 
English  family  and  very  old  friends  of  my  friends,  the 
Lord  Archers,  with  whom  I  visited  in  England,  you 
know.  The  mother  is  a  dear  old  lady — so  stately  and 
so  very  particular — with  old-fashioned  ideas  of  breed- 
ing and  manners,  and  of  course,  very  wealthy.  Her 
house  in  Quebec  is  said  to  be  the  finest  in  the  Prov- 
ince, and  there  are  some  English  estates,  I  believe,  in 
their  line.  Lieutenant  De  Lacy  is  her  only  son,  and 
from  what  you  say,  he  seems  to  be  a  very  charming 
young  man.  He  will  occupy  a  very  high  place  some 

3" 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

day.  I  suppose  Kate  will' — um-um-um — 'Oh  yes, 
and  if  Mrs.  De  Lacy  wishes  you  to  visit  her  you 
might  accept' — um-um-um — 'and  tell  Kate  that  I 
should  be  delighted  if  she  could  accompany  me  on  a 
little  jaunt  through  the  Eastern  States.  I  have  asked 
permission  of  her  father,  but  she  wrote  you  herself 
about  that,  didn't  she?' — um-um-um —  And  then 
listen  to  this!  'How  very  odd  you  should  have  come 
across  the  young  man  from  Glengarry  again — Mac 
Lennon,  is  it?  Mac-something-or-other!  Your  Aunt 
Murray  seems  to  consider  him  a  very  steady  and 
worthy  young  man.  I  hope  he  may  not  degenerate 
in  his  present  circumstances  and  calling,  as  so  many 
of  his  class  do.  I  am  glad  your  father  was  able  to  do 
something  for  him.  These  people  ought  to  be  en- 
couraged.' Now  you  see!"  Maimie's  tone  was  quite 
triumphant. 

"Yes,"  said  Kate!  "I  do  see!  These  people 
should  be  encouraged  to  make  our  timber  for  us  that 
we  may  live  in  ease  and  luxury,  and  even  to  save  us 
from  fire  and  from  blood-thirsty  mobs,  as  occasions 
may  offer,  but  as  for  friendships  and  that  sort  of 
thing—" 

"Oh,  Kate,"  burst  in  Maimie,  almost  in  tears, 
"you  are  so  very  unkind.  You  know  quite  well  what 
I  mean." 

"Yes,  I  know  quite  well;  you  would  not  invite 
Ranald,  for  instance,  to  dine  at  your  house,  to  meet 
your  Aunt  Frank  and  the  Evanses  and  the  Langfords 
and  the  Maitlands,"  said  Kate,  spacing  her  words 
with  deliberate  indignation. 

312 


HE        IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

"Well,  I  would  not,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way," 
said  Maimie,  petulantly,  "and  you  wouldn't  either!" 

"I  would  ask  him  to  meet  every  Maitland  of  them 
if  I  could,"  said  Kate,  "and  it  wouldn't  hurt  them 
either." 

"Oh,  you  are  so  peculiar,"  said  Maimie,  with  a 
sigh  of  pity. 

"Am  I,"  said  Kate;  "ask  Harry,"  she  continued, 
as  that  young  man  came  into  the  room. 

"No,  you  needn't  mind,"  said  Maimie;  "I  know 
well  he  will  just  side  with  you.  He  always  does." 

"How  very  amiable  of  me,"  said  Harry;  "but 
what's  the  particular  issue?" 

"Ranald,"  said  Kate. 

"Then  I  agree  at  once.  Besides,  he  is  coming  to 
supper  next  Sunday  evening!" 

"Oh,  Harry,"  exclaimed  Maimie,  in  dismay,  "on 
Sunday  evening?" 

"He  can't  get  off  any  other  night;  works  all  night, 
I  believe,  and  would  work  all  Sunday,  too,  if  his  prin- 
ciples didn't  mercifully  interfere.  He  will  be  boss  of 
the  concern  before  summer  is  over." 

"Oh,  Harry,"  said  Maimie,  in  distress,  "and  I 
asked  Lieutenant  De  Lacy  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Sims, 
for  Sunday  evening — " 

"Sims,"  cried  Harry;  "little  cad!" 

"I'm  sure  he's  very  nice,"  said  Maimie,  "and  his 
family — " 

"Oh,  hold  up;  don't  get  on  to  your  ancestor  wor- 
ship," cried  Harry,  impatiently.  "Anyway,  Ranald's 
coming  up  Sunday  evening." 

313 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Well,  it  will  be  very  awkward,"  said  Maimie. 

"I  don't  see  why,"  said  Kate. 

"Oh,"  cried  Harry,  scornfully,  "he  will  have  on  his 
red  flannel  shirt  and  a  silk  handkerchief,  and  his  trous- 
ers will  be  in  his  boots ;  that's  what  Maimie  is  thinking 
of!"  ' 

"You  are  very  rude,  Harry,"  said  Maimie.  "You 
know  quite  well  that  Ranald  will  not  enjoy  himself 
with  the  others.  He  has  nothing  in  common  with 
them." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that  Maimie,"  said 
Kate;  "I  will  talk  to  Ranald."  But  Maimie  was  not 
quite  sure  how  she  should  like  that. 

"You  are  just  your  Aunt  Frank  over  again,"  said 
Harry,  in  a  disgusted  tone;  "clothes  and  peo- 
ple!" 

Maimie  was  almost  in  tears. 

"I  think  you  are  both  very  unkind.  You  know 
Ranald  won't  enjoy  it.  He  will  be  quite  miserable, 
and — they'll  just  laugh  at  him!" 

"Well,  they'd  better  laugh  at  him  when  he  isn't 
observing,"  said  Harry. 

"Do  you  think  Ranald  would  really  mind?"  inter- 
posed Kate,  addressing  Harry.  "Do  you  think  he 
will  feel  shy  and  awkward?  Perhaps  we'd  better  have 
him  another  evening." 

"No,"  said  Harry,  decidedly;  "he  is  coming,  and 
he's  coming  on  Sunday  evening.  He  can't  get  off 
any  other  night,  and  besides,  I'd  have  to  lie  to  him, 
and  he  has  an  unpleasant  way  of  finding  you  out  when 
you  are  doing  it,  and  once  he  does  find  out  why  he  is 


HE       IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

not  asked  for  Sunday  evening,  then  you  may  say  good 
by  to  him  for  good  and  all. ' ' 

"Oh,  no  fear  of  that,"  said  Maimie,  confidently; 
"Ranald  has  good  sense,  and  I  know  he  will  come 
again." 

"Well,"  cried  Harry,  "if  you  are  not  going  to 
treat  him  as  you  would  treat  De  Lacy  and  that  idiotic 
Sims,  I  won't  bring  him!"  And  with  that  he  flung 
out  of  the  room. 

But  Harry  changed  his  mind,  for  next  Sunday 
evening  as  the  young  ladies  with  De  Lacy  and  his 
friend  were  about  to  sit  down  to  supper  in  their  pri- 
vate parlor,  Harry  walked  in  with  Ranald,  and  an- 
nounced in  triumph:  "The  man  from  Glengarry!" 
Maimie  looked  at  him  in  dismay,  and  indeed  she  well 
might,  for  Ranald  was  dressed  in  his  most  gorgeous 
shanty  array,  with  red  flannel  shirt  and  silk  handker- 
chief, and  trousers  tucked  into  his  boots.  Sims  gazed 
at  him  as  if  he  were  an  apparition.  It  was  Kate  who 
first  broke  the  silence. 

"We  are  delighted  to  see  you,"  she  cried,  going 
forward  to  Ranald  with  hands  outstretched;  "you  are 
become  quite  a  hero  in  this  town." 

"Quite,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  lieutenant,  in  a 
languid  voice,  but  shaking  Ranald  heartily  by  the 
hand. 

Then  Maimie  came  forward  and  greeted  him  with 
ceremonious  politeness  and  introduced  him  to  Mr. 
Sims,  who  continued  to  gaze  at  the  shantyman's  attire 
with  amused  astonishment. 

The  supper  was  not  a  success;  Ranald  sat  silent 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  solemn,  eating  little  and  smiling  not  at  all, 
although]  Mr.  Sims  executed  his  very  best  jokes. 
Maimie  was  nervous  and  visibly  distressed,  and  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment  broke  up  the  supper  party 
and  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  lieutenant  and 
his  witty  friend,  leaving  Harry  and  Kate  to  entertain 
Ranald.  But  in  spite  of  all  they  could  do  a  solemn 
silence  would  now  and  then  overtake  the  company,  till 
at  length  Maimie  grew  desperate,  and  turning  to  Ran- 
ald, said:  "What  are  you  thinking  of?  You  are  look- 
ing very  serious?", 

"He  is  'thinking  of  home  and  mother,'  "  quoted 
Mr.  Sims,  in  a  thin,  piping  voice,  following  his  quo- 
tation with  a  silly  giggle. 

Kate  flushed  indignantly.  "I  am  quite  sure  his 
thoughts  will  bear  telling,"  she  said. 

"I  am  sure  they  would,"  said  Maimie,  not  know- 
ing what  to  say.  "What  were  they,  Ran — Mr.  Mac- 
donald?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  you,"  said  Ranald,  gravely, 
looking  straight  at  her. 

"How  lovely,"  murmured  the  lieutenant. 

"  And  of  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Murray,  and  of  what  they 
would  be  doing  this  night — " 

"And  what  would  that  be?"  said  Kate,  coming  to 
the  relief  of  her  friend.  But  Ranald  was  silent. 

"I  know,"  cried  Harry.  "Let's  see,  it  is  ten 
o'clock;  they  will  all  be  sitting  in  the  manse  dining- 
room  before  the  big  fire ;  or,  no,  they  will  be  in  the 
parlor  where  the  piano  is,  and  John  'Aleck'  will  be 
there,  and  they  will  be  singing";  and  he  went  on  to 

316 


HE       IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

describe  his  last  Sabbath  evening,  two  years  before,  in 
the  Glengarry  manse.  As  he  began  to  picture  his 
aunt  and  her  work,  his  enthusiasm  carried  him  away, 
and  made  him  eloquent. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  concluded,  "she's  a  rare  woman, 
and  she  has  a  hundred  men  there  ready  to  die  for  her, 
eh,  Ranald?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  and  his  deep  voice  vibrated 
with  intense  feeling.  "They  would  just  die  for  her, 
and  why  not?  She  is  a  great  woman  and  a  good." 
His  dark  face  was  transformed,  and  his  eyes  glowed 
with  an  inner  light. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Kate  went  to  the  har- 
monium and  began  to  play  softly.  Ranald  stood  up 
as  to  go,  but  suddenly  changed  his  mind,  and  went 
over  and  stood  beside  her. 

"You  sing,  don't  you?"  said  Kate,  as  she  played 
softly. 

"You  ought  to  just  hear  him,"  said  Harry. 

"Oh,  what  does  he  sing?" 

"I  only  sing  the  psalm  tunes  in  church,"  said 
Ranald,  "and  a  few  hymns." 

"Ye  gods!"  ejaculated  the  lieutenant  to  Maimie, 
"psalms  and  hymns;  and  how  the  fellow  knocked 
those  Frenchmen  about!" 

"Sing  something,  Kate,  won't  you?"  said  Maimie, 
and  Kate,  without  a  word  began  the  beautiful  air  from 
Mendelssohn's  St.  Paul: — 

"  But  the  Lord  is  mindful  of  His  own," 

singing  it  with  a  power  of  expression  marvellous  in  so 
young  a  girl.  Then,  without  further  request,  she 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

glided  into  the  lovely  aria,  "O  Rest  in  the  Lord."  It 
was  all  new  and  wonderful  to  Ranald.  He  did  not 
dream  that  such  majesty  and  sweetness  could  be  ex- 
pressed in  music.  He  sat  silent  with  eyes  looking  far 
away,  and  face  alight  with  the  joy  that  filled  his  soul. 

"Oh,  thanks,  very  much,"  murmured  the  lieuten- 
ant,* when  Kate  had  finished.  "Lovely  thing  that 
aria,  don't  you  know?" 

"Very  nice,"  echoed  Mr.  Sims,  "and  so  beauti- 
fully done,  too." 

Ranald  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  indignant 
surprise,  and  then  turning  away  from  them  to  Kate, 
said,  in  a  tone  almost  of  command:  "Sing  it  again." 

"I'll  sing  something  else,"  she  said.  "Did  you 
ever  hear — " 

"No,  I  never  heard  anything  at  all  like  that," 
interrupted  Ranald.  "Sing  some  more  like  the  last." 

The  deep  feeling  showing  in  his  face  and  in  his 
tone  touched  Kate. 

"How  would  this  do?"  she  replied.  "It  is  a  little 
high  for  me,  but  I'll  try." 

She  played  a  few  introductory  chords,  and  then 
began  that  sweetest  bit  of  the  greatest  of  all  the  ora- 
torios "He  shall  Feed  His  Flock."  And  from  that 
passed  into  the  soul-moving  "He  Was  Despised"  from 
the  same  noble  work.  The  music  suited  the  range 
and  quality  of  her  voice  perfectly,  and  she  sang  with 
her  heart  thrilling  in  response  to  the  passionate  feel- 
ing in  the  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face.  She  had 
never  sung  to  any  one  who  listened  as  Ranald  now 
listened  to  her.  She  forgot  the  others.  She  was 

318 


HE       IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

singing  for  him,  and  he  was  compelling  her  to  her 
best.  She  was  conscious  of  a  subtle  sense  of  mastery 
overpowering  her,  and  with  a  strange  delight  she 
yielded  herself  to  that  commanding  influence;  but  as 
she  sang  she  began  to  realize  that  he  was  thinking  not 
of  her,  but  of  her  song,  and  soon  she,  too,  was  think- 
ing of  it.  She  knew  that  his  eyes  were  filled  with  the 
vision  of  "The  Man  of  Sorrows"  of  whom  she  sang, 
and  before  she  was  aware,  the  pathos  of  that  lonely 
and  despised  life,  set  forth  in  the  noble  words  of  the 
ancient  prophet,  was  pouring  forth  in  the  great  Mas- 
ter's music. 

When  the  song  was  ended,  no  one  spoke  for  a 
time,  and  even  Mr.  Sims  was  silent.  Then  the  lieu- 
tenant came  over  to  the  harmonium,  and  leaning 
toward  Kate,  said,  in  an  earnest  voice,  unusual  with 
him,  "Thank  you  Miss  Raymond.  That  was  truly 
great." 

"Great  indeed;"  said  Harry,  with  enthusiasm. 
"I  never  heard  you  sing  like  that  before,  Kate." 

But  Ranald  sat  silent,  finding  no  words  in  which 
to  express  the  thoughts  and  feelings  her  singing  had 
aroused  in  him. 

There  is  that  in  noble  music  which  forbids  unreality, 
rebukes  frivolity  into  silence,  subdues  ignoble  passions, 
soothes  the  heart's  sorrow,  and  summons  to  the  soul 
high  and  holy  thoughts.  It  was  difficult  to  begin  the 
conversation ;  the  trivial  themes  of  the  earlier  part  of 
the  evening  seemed  foreign  to  the  mood  that  had 
fallen  upon  the  company.  At  length  Mr.  Sims  ven- 
tured to  remark,  with  a  giggle:  "It's  awfully  fine, 

319 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

don't  you  know,  but  a  trifle  funereal.  Makes  one 
think  of  graves  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Very  nice,  of 
course,"  he  added,  apologetically,  to  Kate.  Ranald 
turned  and  regarded  the  little  man  for  some  moments 
in  silence,  and  then,  with  unutterable  scorn,  exclaimed : 
"Nice!  man,  it's  wonderful,  wonderful  to  me  what- 
ever! Makes  me  think  of  all  the  great  things  I  ever 
saw. ' ' 

"What  things?"  Kate  ventured  to  say. 

For  a  few  moments  Ranald  paused,  and  then 
replied:  "It  makes  me  think  of  the  big  pine  trees 
waving  and  wailing  over  me  at  night,  and  the  big  river 
rolling  down  with  the  moonlight  on  it — and — other 
things." 

"What  other  things,  Ranald,"  persisted  Kate. 

But  Ranald  shook  his  head  and  sat  silent  for  some 
time.  Then  he  rose  abruptly. 

"I  will  be  going  now,"  he  said. 

"You  will  come  again  soon,  Ranald,"  said  Maimie, 
coming  toward  him  with  a  look  on  her  face  that  re- 
minded him  of  the  days  in  the  Glengarry  manse.  She 
had  forgotten  all  about  his  red  shirt  and  silk  hand- 
kerchief. As  Ranald  caught  that  look  a  great  joy 
leaped  into  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  faded  into  a 
gaze  of  perplexity. 

"Yes,  do  come,"  added  Kate. 

"Will  you  sing  again?"  he  asked,  bluntly. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  blush, 
"if  you  want  me  to." 

"I  will  come.     When?     To-morrow  night?" 

"Yes,    certainly,    to-morrow    night,"    said    Kate, 
320 


HE      IS       NOT      OF       MY      KIND 

blushing  deeply  now,  for  she  noticed  the  slight  smile 
on  Harry's  face,  and  the  glance  that  passed  between 
Mr.  Sims  and  the  lieutenant.  Then  Ranald  said 
good  night. 

"I  have  never  had  such  pleasure  in  my  life,"  he 
said,  holding  her  hand  a  moment,  and  looking  into 
her  eyes  that  sparkled  with  a  happy  light.  "That 
is,"  he  added,  with  a  swift  glance  at  Maimie,  "from 
music  or  things  like  that." 

Kate  caught  the  glance,  and  the  happy  light  faded 
from  her  eyes. 

"Good  night,"  said  Ranald,  offering  his  hand  to 
Maimie.  "I  am  glad  I  came  now.  It  makes  me  think 
of  the  last  night  at  the  manse,  although  I  am  always 
thinking  of  it,"  he  added,  simply,  with  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  his  voice.  Maimie's  face  grew  hot  with 
blushes. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  hurriedly.  "Dear  Aunt 
Murray!" 

He  stood  a  moment  or  two  as  if  about  to  speak, 
while  Maimie  waited  in  an  agony  of  fear,  not  knowing 
what  to  expect  in  this  extraordinary  young  man. 
Then  he  turned  abruptly  away,  and  with  a  good  night 
to  De  Lacy  and  a  nod  to  Mr.  Sims,  strode  from  the 
room. 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant; 
"pardon  me,  but  has  anything  happened?  That 
young  man  now  and  then  gives  me  a  sense  of  tragedy. 
What  has  taken  place?"  he  panted,  weakly. 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Maimie,  "your  nervous  sys- 
tem is  rather  delicate." 

321 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Ah,  thanks,  no  doubt  that's  it.  Miss  Kate,  how 
do  you  feel?" 

"I,"  said  Kate,  waking  suddenly,  "thank  you, 
quite  happy." 

"Happy,"  sighed  De  Lacy.  "Ah,  fortunate 
young  man!" 

"Great  chap,  that,"  cried  Harry,  coming  back 
from  seeing  Ranald  to  the  door. 

"Very,"  said  De  Lacy,  so  emphatically  that  every 
one  laughed. 

"Some  one  really  ought  to  dress  him,  though," 
suggested  Mr.  Sims,  with  a  slight  sneer. 

"Why?"  said  Kate,  quietly,  facing  him. 

"Oh,  well,  you  know,  Miss  Raymond,"  stammered 
Mr.  Sims,  "that  sort  of  attire,  you  know,  is  hardly 
the  thing  for  the  drawing-room,  you  know." 

"He  is  a  shantyman,"  said  Maimie,  apologeti- 
cally, "and  they  all  dress  like  that.  I  don't  suppose 
that  he  has  any  other  clothes  with  him." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  assented  Mr.  Sims,  retreating 
before  this  double  attack. 

"Besides,"  continued  Kate,  "it  is  good  taste  to 
dress  in  the  garb  of  your  profession,  isn't  it,  Lieuten- 
ant De  Lacy?" 

"Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Kate,  that's  all  right,"  said 
the  lieutenant,  "but  you  must  draw  the  line  some- 
where, you  know.  Those  colors  now  you  must  con- 
fess are  a  little  startling." 

"You  didn't  mind  the  colors  when  he  saved  you 
the  other  day  from  that  awful  mob!" 

"One  for  you,  De  Lacy,"  cried  Harry. 
322 


HE       IS       NOT       OF       MY       KIND 

"Quite  right,"  answered  the  lieutenant,  "but 
don't  mistake  me.  I  distinguish  between  a  fellow 
and  his  clothes." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Kate,  "I  don't  care  how  a 
man  is  dressed;  if  I  like  him,  I  like  him  should  he 
appear  in  a  blanket  and  feathers." 

"Don't  speak  of  it,"  gasped  the  lieutenant. 

"Do  let's  talk  of  something  else,"  said  Maimie, 
impatiently. 

"Delighted,  I  am  sure,"  said  De  Lacy;  "and  that 
reminds  me  that  madam  was  thinking  of  a  picnic  down 
the  river  this  week — just  a  small  company,  you  know. 
The  man  would  drive  her  down  and  take  the  hamper 
and  things,  and  we  would  go  down  by  boat.  Awful 
pull  back,  though,"  he  added,  regretfully,  "but  if  it 
should  give  any  pleasure — delighted,  you  know," 
bowing  gallantly  to  the  ladies. 

"Delightful!"  cried  Maimie. 

"And  Ranald  pulls  splendidly,"  said  Kate. 

Maimie  looked  at  her,  wondering  how  she  knew 
that.  "I  don't  think  Ranald  can  get  away  every  day. 
I'm  sure  he  can't;  can  he,  Harry?"  she  said. 

"No,"  said  Harry,  "no  more  can  I,  worse  luck! 
The  governor  is  sticking  awfully  close  to  work  just 
now." 

"And,  of  course,  you  can't  be  spared,"  said  Kate, 
mockingly.  "But  couldn't  you  both  come  later?  We 
could  wait  tea  for  you." 

"Might,"  said  Harry.  "I  shall  make  my  best 
endeavor  for  your  sake,"  bowing  toward  Kate,  "but  I 
am  doubtful  about  Ranald.  Perhaps  we'd  better  not — ' ' 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Why,  certainly,  old  chap,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"what's  the  matter?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  blurted  out  Harry,  desperately, 
"I  don't  want  to  drag  in  Ranald.  I  like  him  awfully, 
but  you  may  feel  as  if  he  were  not  quite  one  of  us. 
You  know  what  I  mean;  your  mother  doesn't  know 
him." 

Harry  felt  extremely  awkward  knowing  that  he 
came  perilously  near  to  suspecting  the  lieutenant  of 
the  most  despicable  snobbery. 

"Why,  certainly,"  repeated  the  lieutenant.  "That's 
all  right.  Bring  your  Glengarry  man  along  if  any  one 
wants  him." 

"I  do,"  said  Kate,  decidedly. 

' ' Kismet, ' '  replied  the  lieutenant.  "It  is  decreed. 
The  young  man  must  come,  for  I  suspect  he  is  very 
much  'one  of  us.'  '  But  of  this  the  lieutenant  was 
not  quite  so  certain  by  the  time  the  day  of  the  picnic 
had  arrived. 


334 


The  Glengarry  men  were  on  the  Montreal  boat 
leaving  for  home.  Macdonald  Bhain's  farewell  to  his 
nephew  was  full  of  sadness,  for  he  knew  that  hence- 
forth their  ways  would  lie  apart,  and  full  of  solemn 
warnings  against  the  dangers  of  the  city  where  Ranald 
was  now  to  be. 

"It  is  a  wicked  place,  and  the  pitfalls  are  many, 
and  they  are  not  in  the  places  where  the  eyes  will  be 
looking  for  them.  Ye  are  taking  the  way  that  will 
be  leading  you  from  us  all,  and  I  will  not  be  keeping 
you  back,  nor  will  I  be  laying  any  vows  upon  you. 
You  will  be  a  true  man,  and  you  will  keep  the  fear  of 
God  before  your  eyes,  and  you  will  remember  that  a 
Macdonald  never  fails  the  man  that  trusts  him."  And 
long  after  the  great  man  was  gone  his  last  words  kept 
tugging  at  Ranald's  heart:  "Ranald,  lad,  remember 
us  up  yonder  in  the  Indian  Lands,"  he  said,  holding 
his  hand  with  a  grip  that  squeezed  the  bones  together; 
"we  will  be  always  thinking  of  you,  and  more  than  all, 
at  the  Bible  class  and  the  meetings  she  will  be  asking 
for  you  and  wondering  how  you  are  doing,  and  by 
night  and  by  day  the  door  will  be  on  the  latch  for 
your  coming;  for,  laddie,  laddie,  you  are  a  son  to 
me  and  more!"  The  break  in  the  big  Macdonald 's 
voice  took  away  from  Ranald  all  power  of  speech, 

325 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  without  a  word  of  reply,  he  had  to  let  his  uncle 

go- 
Yankee's    good   by   was     characteristic.     "Well, 

guess  I'll  git  along.  Wish  you  were  comin'  back 
with  us,  but  you've  struck  your  gait,  I  guess,  and 
you're  goin'  to  make  quite  a  dust.  Keep  your  wind 
till  the  last  quarter;  that's  where  the  money's  lost. 
I  ain't  'fraid  of  you;  you're  green,  but  they  can't 
break  you.  Keep  your  left  eye  on  the  suckers. 
There  ain't  no  danger  from  the  feller  that  rips  and 
rares  and  gits  up  on  his  hind  legs,  but  the  feller  that 
sidles  raound  and  sorter  chums  it  up  to  you  and  wants 
to  pay  fer  your  drinks,  by  Jings,  kick  him.  And 
say,"  Yankee's  voice  here  grew  low  and  impressive, 
"git  some  close.  These  here  are  all  right  for  the 
woods,  but  with  them  people  close  counts  an  awful 
lot.  It's  the  man  inside  that  wins,  but  the  close  is 
outside.  Git  'em  and  git  'em  good;  none  of  your 
second-hand  Jew  outfits.  It'll  cost,  of  course,  but — 
(here  Yankee  closed  up  to  Ranald)  but  here's  a  wad; 
ain't  no  pertickaler  use  to  me." 

Then  Ranald  smote  him  in  the  chest  and  knocked 
him  back  against  a  lumber  pile. 

"I  know  you,"  he  cried;  "you  would  be  giving 
me  the  coat  off  your  back.  If  I  would  be  taking 
money  from  any  man  I'd  take  it  from  you,  but  let  me 
tell  you  I  will  have  no  money  that  I  do  not  earn;" 
then,  seeing  Yankee's  disappointed  face,  he  added, 
"but  indeed,  I  owe  you  for  your  help  to  me — and — 
mi — mine,  when  help  was  needed  sore,  more  than  I 
can  ever  pay  back."  Then,  as  they  shook  hands, 

3* 


ONE       GAME       AT      A       TIME 

Ranald  spoke  again,  and  his  voice  was  none  too 
steady.  "And  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  would 
like  you  to  have  Lizette,  for  it  may  be  a  long  time 
before  I  will  be  back  again,  and  I  know  you  will  be 
good  to  her;  and  if  ever  I  need  your  help  in  this  way, 
I  promise  I  will  come  to  you." 

Yankee  chewed  his  quid  of  tobacco  hard  and  spat 
twice  before  he  could  reply.  Then  he  answered 
slowly:  "Now  look-ye-here,  I'll  take  that  little  mare 
and  look  after  her,  but  the  mare's  yours  and  if — and  if 
— which  I  don't  think  will  happen — if  you  don't  come 
back  soon,  why — I  will  send  you  her  equivalent  in  cash ; 
but  I'd  ruther  see — I'd  ruther  see  you  come  back  for  it!" 

It  was  with  a  very  lonely  heart  that  Ranald 
watched  out  of  sight  the  steamboat  that  carried  to 
their  homes  in  the  Indian  Lands  the  company  of  men 
who  had  been  his  comrades  for  the  long  months  in  the 
woods  and  on  the  river,  and  all  the  more  that  he  was 
dimly  realizing  that  this  widening  blue  strip  of  flowing 
river  was  separating  him  forever  from  the  life  he  so 
passionately  loved.  As  his  eyes  followed  them  he 
thought  of  the  home-coming  that  he  would  have 
shared ;  their  meetings  at  the  church  door,  the  grave 
handshakings  from  the  older  folk,  the  saucy  "horos" 
from  the  half-grown  boys,  the  shy  blushing  glances 
from  the  maidens,  and  last  and  dearest  of  all,  the 
glad,  proud  welcome  in  the  sweet,  serious  face  with 
the  gray-brown  eyes.  It  was  with  the  memory  of 
that  face  in  his  heart  that  he  turned  to  meet  what 
might  be  coming  to  him,  with  the  resolve  that  he 
would  play  the  man. 

337 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Hello,  old  chap,  who's  dead?"  It  was  Harry's 
gay  voice.  "You  look  like  a  tomb."  He  put  his 
arm  through  Ranald's  and  walked  with  him  up  the 
street. 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  he  asked,  as  Ranald 
walked  along  in  silence. 

"To  get  some  clothes." 

"Thank  the  great  powers!"  ejaculated  Harry  to 
himself. 

"What?" 

"And  where  are  you  going  to  get  them?" 

"I  do  not  know — some  store,  I  suppose."  Ranald 
had  the  vaguest  notions  not  only  of  where  he  should 
go,  but  of  the  clothes  in  which  he  ought  to  array  him- 
self, but  he  was  not  going  to  acknowledge  this  to  his 
friend. 

"You  can't  get  any  clothes  fit  to  wear  in  this 
town,"  said  Harry,  in  high  contempt.  Ranald's 
heart  sank.  "But  come  along,  we  will  find  some- 
thing." 

As  they  passed  in  front  of  the  little  French  shops, 
with  windows  filled  inside  and  out  with  ready-made 
garments,  Ranald  paused  to  investigate. 

"Oh!  pshaw,"  cried  Harry,  "don't  know  what 
you'll  get  here.  We'll  find  something  better  than 
this  cheap  stuff,"  and  Ranald,  glad  enough  of  guid- 
ance, though  uncertain  as  to  where  it  might  lead  him, 
followed  meekly. 

"What  sort  of  a  suit  do  you  want?"  said  Harry. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ranald,  doubtfully.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  there  could  be  any  great 

328 


ONE       GAME       AT       A       TIME 

difference  in  suits.  There  had  never  been  any  choos- 
ing of  suits  with  him. 

"Like  yours,  I  suppose,"  he  continued,  glancing 
at  Harry's  attire,  but  adding,  cautiously,  "if  they  do 
not  cost  too  much." 

"About  forty  dollars,"  said  Harry,  lightly;  then, 
noticing  the  dismayed  look  on  Ranald's  face,  he  added 
quickly,  "but  you  don't  need  to  spend  that  much, 
you  know.  I  say,  you  let  me  manage  this  thing." 
And  fortunate  it  was  for  Ranald  that  he  had  his 
friend's  assistance  in  this  all-important  business,  but 
it  took  all  Harry's  judgment,  skill,  and  delicacy  of 
handling  to  pilot  his  friend  through  the  devious  ways 
of  outfitters,  for  Ranald's  ignorance  of  all  that  per- 
tained to  a  gentleman's  wardrobe  was  equaled  only 
by  the  sensitive  pride  on  the  one  hand  that  made  him 
shrink  from  appearing  poor  and  mean,  and  by  his 
Scotch  caution  on  the  other  that  forbade  undue  ex- 
travagance. It  was  a  hard  hour  and  a  half  for  them 
both,  but  when  all  was  over,  Ranald's  gratitude  more 
than  repaid  Harry  for  his  pains. 

"Come  up  to-night,"  said  Harry,  as  they  stood  at 
the  door  of  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  where  Ranald  had 
taken  up  his  quarters. 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  abruptly,  unconsciously  glanc- 
ing down  at  his  rough  dress. 

"Then  I'll  come  down  here,"  said  Harry,  noting 
the  glance. 

"I  will  be  very  glad,"  replied  Ranald,  his  face 
lighting  up,  for  he  was  more  afraid  than  he  cared  to 
show  of  the  lonely  hours  of  that  night.  It  would  be 

329 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

the  first  night  in  his  life  away  from  his  own  kin  and 
friends.  But  he  was  not  so  glad  when,  after  tea,  as 
he  stood  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  he  saw  sauntering 
toward  him  not  only  Harry,  but  also  Lieutenant  De 
Lacy  and  his  friend  Mr.  Sims. 

"These  fellows  would  come  along,"  explained 
Harry;  "I  told  them  you  didn't  want  them." 

"Showed  how  little  he  knew,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
"I  told  him  you  would  be  delighted." 

"Will  you  come  in?"  said  Ranald,  rather  grudg- 
ingly, "though  there  is  nothing  much  inside." 

"What  a  bear,"  said  Mr.  Sims  to  Harry,  disgust- 
edly, in  a  low  voice. 

"Nothing  much!"  said  the  lieutenant,  "a  good 
deal  I  should  say  from  what  one  can  hear." 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  replied  Ranald;  "the  boys 
are  having  some  games." 

The  bar-room  was  filled  with  men  in  shanty  dress, 
some  sitting  with  chairs  tipped  back  against  the  wall, 
smoking  the  black  French  "twist"  tobacco;  others 
drinking  at  the  bar;  and  others  still  at  the  tables  that 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room  playing  cards  with 
loud  exclamations  and  oaths  of  delight  or  disgust, 
according  to  their  fortune.  The  lieutenant  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  followed  by  the  others. 

"A  jolly  lot,  by  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  with 
mild  interest  on  the  scene,  "and  with  the  offer  of 
some  sport,  too,"  he  added,  glancing  at  the  card- 
players  in  the  corner,  where  men  were  losing  their 
winter's  wages. 

"What  will  you  take?"  said  Ranald,  prompted  by 
33° 


ONE       GAME       AT       A       TIME 

his  Highland  sense  of  courtesy,  "and  would  you  have 
it  in  the  next  room?" 

"Anywhere,"  said  the  lieutenant,  with  alacrity; 
"a  little  brandy  and  soda  for  me;  nothing  else  in 
these  places  is  worth  drinking." 

Ranald  gave  the  order,  and  with  some  degree  of 
pride,  noticed  the  obsequious  manner  of  the  bar-tender 
toward  him  and  his  distinguished  guests.  They 
passed  into  an  inner  and  smaller  room,  lit  by  two  or 
three  smoky  lamps  in  brackets  on  the  walls.  In  this 
room,  sitting  at  one  of  the  tables,  were  two  French- 
men playing  tcartt.  As  the  lieutenant  entered,  one  of 
them  glanced  up  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  recog- 
nition. 

"Ah,  it  is  our  warlike  friend,"  cried  De  Lacy, 
recognizing^him  in  return;  "you  play  this  game  also," 
he  continued  in  French. 

"Not  moche, "  said  LeNoir,  for  it  was  he,  with  a 
grand  salute.  "Will  the  capitaine  join,  and  his  friends?" 

Ranald  shook  his  head  and  refused. 

"Come  along,"  said  the  lieutenant,  eagerly,  to 
Ranald.  The  game  was  his  passion.  "Mr.  Sims, 
you  will;  Harry,  what  do  you  say?" 

"I  will  look  on  with  Ranald." 

"Oh,  come  in  Macdonald,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"the  more  the  better,  and  we'll  make  it  poker.  You 
know  the  game?"  he  said,  turning  to  LeNoir;  "and 
your  friend — I  have  not  the  pleasure — " 

"Mr.  Rouleau,"  said  Ranald  and  LeNoir  together, 
presenting  the  young  Frenchman  who  spoke  and 
looked  like  a  gentleman. 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Do  you  play  the  game?"  said  the  lieutenant. 

"A  verie  leetle,  but  I  can  learn  him." 

"That's  right,"  cried  the  lieutenant,  approvingly. 

"What  do  you  say,  Ranald,"  said  Harry,  who  also 
loved  the  game. 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  shortly,  "I  never  play  for 
money." 

"Make  it  pennies,"  said  Mr.  Sims,  with  a  slight 
laugh. 

"Go  on,  De  Lacy,"  said  Harry,  angry  at  Mr. 
Sims's  tone.  "You've  got  four— that'll  do!" 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  De  Lacy,  his  easy,  languid 
air  returning  to  him.  "What  shall  it  be — quarter 
chips  with  a  dollar  limit?  Brandy  and  soda,  Mr.  Le- 
Noir?  And  you,  Mr.  Rouleau?  Two  more  glasses, 
gar^on,"  and  the  game  began. 

From  the  outset  Rouleau  steadily  won  till  his  chips 
were  piled  high  in  front  of  him. 

"You  play  the  game  well,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
"Shall  we  raise  the  limit?" 

"As  you  lak,"  said  Rouleau,  with  a  polite  bow. 

"Let's  make  it  five  dollars,"  suggested  Mr.  Sims, 
to  which  all  agreed. 

But  still  the  game  was  Rouleau's,  who  grew  more 
and  more  excited  with  every  win.  The  lieutenant 
played  coolly,  and  with  seeming  indifference,  in  which 
he  was  imitated  by  Mr.  Sims,  the  loss  of  a  few  dollars 
being  a  matter  of  small  moment  to  either. 

"It  would  make  it  more  interesting  if  we  made  it 
a  dollar  to  play,"  at  length  said  Mr.  Sims.  The  sug- 
gestion was  accepted,  and  the  game  went  on.  At 

332 


ONE       GAME       AT       A       TIME 

once  the  luck  began  to  turn,  and  in  a  half  hour's  play 
Rouleau's  winnings  disappeared  and  passed  over  to 
the  lieutenant's  hand.  In  spite  of  his  bad  luck,  how- 
ever, Rouleau  continued  to  bet  eagerly  and  recklessly, 
until  Ranald,  who  hated  to  see  the  young  lumberman 
losing  his  season's  wages,  suggested  that  the  game 
come  to  an  end. 

"The  night  is  early,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "but  if 
you  have  had  enough,"  he  said,  bowing  to  LeNoir 
and  Rouleau — " 

"Nonf"  exclaimed  Rouleau,  "the  fortune  will  to 
me  encore.  We  mak  it  de  two-dollar  to  play.  Dat 
will  brakde  luck." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  stop  it,"  said  Harry. 

But  the  demon  of  play  had  taken  full  possession  of 
both  Rouleau  and  thejieutenant  and  they  were  not  to 
be  denied.  Rouleau  took  from  his  pocket  a  roll  of 
bills  and  counted  them. 

"Fifty  dollars,"  he  cried.  "Ban!  I  play  him, 
me!" 

The  others  deposited  a  like  sum  before  them,  and 
the  game  proceeded.  The  deal  was  De  Lacy's. 
After  a  few  moment's  consideration,  Mr.  Sims  and  Le- 
Noir each  drew  three  cards.  In  a  tone  of  triumph 
which  he  could  not  altogether  suppress,  Rouleau  ex- 
claimed "Dees  are  good  enough  for  me."  The  lieu- 
tenant drew  one  card,  and  the  betting  began. 

Twice  Rouleau,  when  it  came  to  his  turn,  bet  the 
limit,  the  others  contenting  themselves  by  "raising" 
one  dollar.  On  the  third  round  LeNoir,  remarking, 
"Das  leetle  too  queek  for  me,"  dropped  out. 

333 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

Once  more  Rouleau  raised  the  bet  to  the  limit, 
when  Mr.  Sims  refused,  and  left  the  game  to  him  and 
the  lieutenant.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  eager 
triumph  in  the  Frenchman's  pale  face.  He  began  to 
bet  more  cautiously,  his  only  fear  being  that  his  oppo- 
nent would  "call"  too  soon.  Dollar  by  dollar  the  bet 
was  raised  till  at  last  Rouleau  joyously  gathered  his 
last  chips,  raised  the  bet  once  more  by  the  limit,  ex- 
claiming, as  he  did  so,  "Alas!  dere  ees  no  more!" 

He  had  played  his  season's  wages  that  night,  but 
now  he  would  recover  all. 

De  Lacy,  whose  coolness  was  undisturbed,  though 
his  face  showed  signs  of  his  many  brandy-and-sodas, 
covered  the  bet. 

"ffot&l"  exclaimed  Rouleau  in  triumph.  "Eet 
ees  to  me!"  He  threw  down  his  cards  and  reached 
for  the  pile. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  lieutenant,  quietly  looking 
at  Rouleau's  cards.  "Ah,  a  straight  flush,  queen 
high."  Coolly  he  laid  his  cards  on  the  table. 
"Thought  you  might  have  had  the  ace,"  he  said, 
languidly,  leaning  back  in  his  chair.  He,  too,  held  a 
straight  flush,  but  with  the  king. 

Rouleau  gazed  thunderstruck. 

"Mort  Dieu!"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "The 
deal  was  from  you." 

"Mine,"  said  De  Lacy,  quietly,  looking  up  at  the 
excited  Frenchman. 

"Ah,"  cried  Rouleau,  beside  himself.  "It  is— 
what  you  call?  One  cheat!  cheat!" 

The  lieutenant  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair. 
334 


ONE        GAME       AT       A       TIME 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  cheated  you?"  he  said,  with 
slow  emphasis.  "Beware  what  you  say." 

"Out!"  cried  the  Frenchman;  " sacr-r-re — so  I 
mean!" 

Before  the  words  had  well  left  his  lips,  and  before 
any  one  could  interfere  De  Lacy  shot  out  his  arm, 
lifted  the  Frenchman  clear  off  his  feet,  and  hurled  him 
to  the  floor. 

"Stop!  you  coward!"  Ranald  stood  before  the 
lieutenant  with  eyes  blazing  and  breath  coming 
quick. 

"Coward?"  said  De  Lacy,  slowly. 

"You  hit  a  man  unprepared." 

"You  are  prepared,  I  suppose,"  replied  De  Lacy, 
deliberately. 

"Yes!  Yes!"  cried  Ranald,  eagerly,  the  glad 
light  of  battle  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"Good,"  said  De  Lacy,  slowly  putting  back  his 
chair,  and  proceeding  to  remove  his  coat. 

"Glengarry!"  cried  LeNoir,  raising  the  battle  cry 
he  had  cause  to  remember  so  well;  and  flinging  off  his 
coat  upon  the  floor,  he  patted  Ranald  on  the  back, 
yelling,  "Go  in,  bully  boy!" 

"Shut  the  door,  LeNoir,"  said  Ranald,  quickly, 
"and  keep  it  shut." 

"De  Lacy,"  cried  Harry,  "this  must  not  go  on! 
Ranald,  think  what  you  are  doing!" 

"You  didn't  notice  his  remark,  apparently,  St. 
Clair, "  said  the  lieutenant,  calmly. 

"Never  mind,"  cried  Harry,  "he  was  excited,  and 
anyway  the  thing  must  end  here." 

335 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"There  is  only  one  way.  Does  he  retract?"  said 
De  Lacy,  quietly. 

"Ranald,"  Harry  cried,  beseechingly,  "you  know 
he  is  no  coward;  you  did  not  mean  that." 

By  this  time  Ranald  had  himself  in  hand. 

"No,"  he  said,  regretfully,  forcing  himself  to 
speak  the  truth.  "I  know  he  is  no  coward;  I  have 
seen  him  where  no  coward  would  be,  but,"  he  added, 
"he  struck  a  man  unguarded,  and  that  was  a  coward's 
blow." 

"Macdonald,"  said  De  Lacy  deliberately,  "you  are 
right.  True,  he  called  me  a  cheat,  but  I  should  have 
given  him  time.  Still,"  he  added,  rolling  up  his 
sleeves,  "I  hope  you  will  not  deprive  yourself  or  me 
of  the  privilege  of  settling  this  little  business." 

"I  will  be  glad,"  said  Ranald,  his  eyes  once  more 
lighting  up.  "Very  glad  indeed,  if  you  wish." 

"Nonsense,"  cried  Harry,  passionately,  "I  tell  you 
I  will  not  have  it.  He  has  given  you  ample  apology, 
De  Lacy;  and  you,  Ranald,  I  thought  a  Macdonald 
never  fought  except  for  sufficient  cause!"  Harry 
remembered  the  fighting  rule  of  the  Macdonald 
gang. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Ranald,  gravely,  "but  it  was 
a  cruel  blow,"  pointing  to  Rouleau,  who,  supported 
by  LeNoir,  was  sitting  on  a  chair,  his  face  badly  cut 
and  bleeding,  "and  that,  too,  after  taking  from  him 
the  wages  of  six  months  in  the  bush!" 

"I  suppose  you  admit  the  game  was  fair,"  said  the 
lieutenant,  moving  nearer  to  Ranald,  the  threat  in  his 
tone  evident  to  all. 

336 


ONE       GAME       AT       A       TIME 

"The  game  was  fair,"  said  Ranald,  facing  De  Lacy, 
1  'but  I  will  say  the  lad  was  no  fair  match  for  you!" 

"He  chose  to  risk  his  money,  which  you  were  not 
willing  to  do."  De  Lacy  felt  that  he  was  being  put 
in  an  unpleasant  light  and  was  determined  to  anger 
Ranald  beyond  control.  Ranald  caught  the  sneer. 

"If  I  did  not  play,"  he  cried,  hotly,  "it  was  for  no 
fear  of  you  or  any  of  you.  It  was  no  man's  game 
whatever,"  he  continued,  contemptuously. 

"Now,  De  Lacy,"  cried  Harry,  again,  "let  this 
stop.  The  man  who  fights  will  first  fight  me!" 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Macdonald  would  show  us  how  the 
game  should  be  played,"  said  Mr.  Sims,  coming  as 
near  to  a  sneer  as  he  dared. 

"It  would  not  be  hard  to  show  you  this  game," 
said  Ranald,  ignoring  Mr.  Sims,  and  looking  the  lieu- 
tenant in  the  eyes,  "or  perhaps  the  other!" 

"Good!"  cried  Harry,  gladly  seizing  the  opportu- 
nity of  averting  a  fight.  "The  game!  Take  your 
places,  gentlemen!" 

The  lieutenant  hesitated  for  a  moment,  as  if  uncer- 
tain what  to  do.  Then,  with  a  slight  laugh,  he  said, 
"Very  well,  one  thing  at  a  time,  the  other  can 
wait." 

"Come  on!"  cried  Harry,  "who  goes  in?  LeNoir, 
you?" 

LeNoir  looked  at  Ranald. 

"What  you  say?" 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  shortly,  "this  is  my  game!" 
With  that  he  turned  aside  from  the  table  and  spoke  a 
few  words  in  a  low  tone  to  LeNoir,  who  assisted 

337 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

Rouleau  from  the  room,  and  after  some  minutes' 
absence,  returned  with  a  little  linen  bag.  Ranald 
took  the  bag  and  began  to  count  out  some  money 
upon  the  table  before  him. 

"I  will  play  to  one  hundred  dollars,"  he  said. 

The  lieutenant  and  Mr.  Sims  each  laid  the  same 
amount  before  them  upon  the  table. 

"I  have  not  so  much  on  me,"  said  Harry,  "but 
perhaps  my  I.  O.  U.  will  do." 

"What  shall  we  say,"  said  Mr.  Sims,  "a  dollar  to 
play  and  five  dollars  limit?" 

"Say  five  and  twenty-five,"  said  De  Lacy,  who 
was  commanding  himself  with  a  great  effort. 

"Is  that  too  high?"  said  Harry,  looking  toward 
Ranald. 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  "the  higher  the  better." 

It  was  soon  evident  that  Ranald  knew  the  game. 
He  had  learned  it  during  the  long  winter  nights  in  the 
shanty  from  Yankee,  who  was  a  master  at  it,  and  he 
played  it  warily  and  with  iron  nerve.  He  seemed 
to  know  as  by  instinct  when  to  retreat  and  when  to 
pursue;  and  he  played  with  the  single  purpose  of 
bleeding  the  lieutenant  dry.  Often  did  he  refuse  to 
take  toll  of  Harry  or  Mr.  Sims  when  opportunity 
offered,  but  never  once  did  he  allow  the  lieutenant 
to  escape 

"You  flatter  me,"  said  the  lieutenant,  sarcastically, 
as  Ranald's  purpose  became  increasingly  clear. 

"I  will  have  from  you  all  you  have  won,"  replied 
Ranald,  in  a  tone  of  such  settled  resolve  that  it  seemed 
as  if  nothing  could  prevent  the  accomplishment  of  his 

338 


ONE        GAME       AT       A       TIME 

purpose.  In  vain  the  lieutenant  sought  to  brace  his 
nerves  with  his  brandy-and-sodas.  He  played  now 
recklessly  and  again  with  over-caution,  while  Ranald, 
taking  advantage  of  every  slip  and  every  sign  of 
weakness,  followed  him  with  relentless  determina- 
tion. 

With  such  stakes  the  game  was  soon  over.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  lieutenant  was  stripped  of  his 
hundred,  while  Harry  and  Mr.  Sims  had  each  lost 
smaller  amounts. 

"You  will  try  another  hundred?"  said  the  lieuten- 
ant, burning  to  get  revenge. 

Without  a  word  Ranald  laid  down  his  hundred; 
the  others  did  likewise,  and  once  more  the  game  pro- 
ceeded. There  was  no  change  in  Ranald's  play. 
Thorough  knowledge  of  the  game,  absolute  self-com- 
mand, an  instinctive  reading  of  his  opponent's  mind, 
and  unswerving  purpose  soon  brought  about  the  only 
result  possible.  The  lieutenant's  second  hundred  with 
a  part  of  Harry's  and  Mr.  Sims's  passed  into  Ranald's 
possession. 

Again  De  Lacy  challenged  to  play. 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  "I  have  done."  He  put 
back  into  his  linen  bag  his  one  hundred  dollars, 
counted  out  two  hundred,  and  gave  it  to  LeNoir, 
saying:  "That  is  Rouleau's,"  and  threw  the  rest 
upon  the  table.  "I  want  no  man's  money, "  he  said, 
"that  I  do  not  earn." 

The  lieutenant  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Hold!"  he  cried,  "you  forget,  there  is  something 
else!" 

339 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  as  Harry  and  Mr.  Sims  put 
themselves  in  De  Lacy's  way,  "there  is  nothing  else 
to-night ;  another  day,  and  any  day  you  wish,  you  can 
have  the  other  game, ' '  and  with  that  he  passed  out 
of  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XX 

HER  CLINGING  ARMS 

The  ancient  capital  of  Canada — the  old  gray  queen 
of  the  mighty  St.  Lawrence — is  a  city  of  many  charms 
and  of  much  stately  beauty.  Its  narrow,  climbing 
streets,  with  their  quaint  shops  and  curious  gables,  its 
old  market,  with  chaffering  habitant  farmers  and  their 
wives,  are  full  of  living  interest.  Its  noble  rock, 
crowned  with  the  ancient  citadel,  and  its  sweeping 
tidal  river,  lend  it  a  dignity  and  majestic  beauty  that 
no  other  city  knows ;  and  everywhere  about  its  citadel 
and  walls,  and  venerable,  sacred  buildings,  there  still 
linger  the  romance  and  chivalry  of  heroic  days  long 
gone.  But  there  are  times  when  neither  the  interests 
of  the  living  present  nor  the  charms  of  the  romantic 
past  can  avail,  and  so  a  shadow  lay  upon  Maimie's 
beautiful  face  as  she  sat  in  the  parlor  of  the  Hotel  de 
Cheval  Blanc,  looking  out  upon  the  mighty  streets  and 
the  huddled  roofs  of  the  lower  town.  She  held  in  her 
hand  an  open  note. 

"It  is  just  awfully  stupid,"  she  grumbled,  "and  I 
think  pretty  mean  of  him!" 

"Of  whom,  may  I  ask?"  said  Kate,  pausing  in  her 
singing,  "or  is  there  any  need?  What  says  the  gal- 
lant lieutenant?" 

Maimie  tossed  her  the  note. 

"The  picnic   is  postponed.     Well,  of  course  the 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

rain  told  us  that;  and  he  is  unavoidably  prevented 
from  calling,  and  entreats  your  sympathy  and  com- 
miseration. Well,  that's  a  very  nice  note,  I  am  sure. ' ' 

"Where  has  he  been  these  three  days!  He  might 
have  known  it  would  be  stupid,  and  Harry  gives  one 
no  satisfaction."  Maimie  was  undeniably  cross. 
"And  Ranald,  too,"  she  went  on,  "where  has  he 
been?  Not  even  your  music  could  bring  him!"  with 
a  little  spice  of  spite.  "I  think  men  are  just  horrid, 
anyway. ' ' 

"Especially  when  they  will  keep  away,"  said  Kate. 

"Well,  what  are  they  good  for  if  not  to  entertain 
us?  I  wish  we  could  do  without  them!  But  I  do 
think  Ranald  might  have  come." 

"Well,"  said  Kate,  emphatically,  "I  can't  see  why 
you  should  expect  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  think  you  ought  to  know." 

"I,  how  should  I  know?"  Maimie's  innocent  blue 
eyes  were  wide  open  with  surprise. 

"Nonsense,"  cried  Kate,  with  impatience  rare  in 
her,  "don't  be  absurd,  Maimie;  I  am  not  a  child." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  needn't  tell  me  you  don't  know  why  Ran- 
ald comes.  Do  you  want  him  to  come?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  do;  how  silly  you  are." 

"Well,"  said  Kate,  deliberately,  "I  would  rather 
be  silly  than  cruel  and  unkind." 

"Why,  Kate,  how  dreadful  of  you!"  exclaimed 
Maimie;  "  'cruel  and  unkind!'  " 

"Yes,"  said  Kate;  "you  are  not  treating  Ranald 
342 


HER       CLINGING       ARMS 

well.  You  should  not  encourage  him  to — to — care 
for  you  when  you  do  not  mean  to — to — go  on  with 
it." 

"Oh,  what  nonsense;  Ranald  is  not  a  baby;  he 
will  not  take  any  hurt." 

"Oh,  Maimie, "  said  Kate,  and  her  voice  was  low 
and  earnest,  "Ranald  is  not  like  other  men.  He  does 
not  understand  things.  He  loves  you  and  he  will  love 
you  more  every  day  if  you  let  him.  Why  don't  you 
let  him  go?" 

"Let  him  go!"  cried  Maimie,  "who's  keeping 
him?"  But  as  she  spoke  the  flush  in  her  cheek  and 
the  warm  light  in  her  eye  told  more  clearly  than  words 
that  she  did  not  mean  to  let  him  go  just  then. 

"You  are,"  said  Kate,  "and  you  are  making  him 
love  you." 

"Why,  how  silly  you  are,"  cried  Maimie;  "of 
course  he  likes  me,  but — " 

"No,  Maimie,"  said  Kate,  with  sad  earnestness, 
"he  loves  you;  you  can  see  it  in  the  way  he  looks  at 
you;  in  his  voice  when  he  speaks  and — oh,  you 
shouldn't  let  him  unless  you  mean  to — to — go  on. 
Send  him  right  away!"  There  were  tears  in  Kate's 
dark  eyes. 

"Why,  Katie,"  cried  Maimie,  looking  at  her  curi- 
ously, "what  difference  does  it  make  to  you?  And 
besides,  how  can  I  send  him',  away?  I  just  treat  him 
as  I  do  Mr.  De  Lacy." 

"De  Lacy!"  cried  Kate,  indignantly.  "De  Lacy 
can  look  after  himself,  but  Ranald  is  different.  He 
is  so  serious  and — and  so  honest,  and  he  means  just 

343 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

what  he  says,  and  you  are  so  nice  to  him,  and  you 
look  at  him  in  such  a  way!" 

"Why,  Kate,  do  you  mean  that  I  try  to — " 
Maimie  was  righteously  indignant. 

"You  perhaps  don't  know,"  continued  Kate,  "but 
you  can't  help  being  fascinating  to  men;  you  know 
you  are,  and  Ranald  believes  you  so,  and — and  you 
ought  to  be  quite  straightforward  with  him!"  Poor 
Kate  could  no  longer  command  her  voice. 

"There,  now,"  said  Maimie,  caressing  her  friend, 
not  unpleased  with  Kate's  description  of  her;  "I'm 
going  to  be  good.  I  will  just  be  horrid  to  both  of 
them,  and  they'll  go  away!  But,  oh,  dear,  things 
are  all  wrong!  Poor  Ranald,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I 
wonder  if  he  will  come  to  the  picnic  on  Saturday?" 

Kate  looked  at  her  friend  a  moment  and  wiped 
away  her  tears. 

"Indeed  I  hope  he  wfll  not,"  she  said,  indignantly, 
"for  I  know  you  mean  to  just  lead  him  on.  I  have  a 
mind  to  tell  him." 

"Tell  him  what?"  said  Maimie,  smiling. 

"Just  what  you  mean  to  do." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  that." 

"Now  I  tell  you,  Maimie,"  said  Kate,  "if  you  go 
on  with  Ranald  so  any  longer  I  will  just  tell  him  you 
are  playing  with  him." 

"Do,"  said  Maimie,  scornfully,  "and  be  careful  to 
make  clear  to  him  at  the  same  time  that  you  are  speak- 
ing solely  in  his  interest!" 

Kate's  face  flushed  red  at  the  insinuation,  and  then 
grew  pale.  She  stood  for  some  time  looking  in  silence 

344 


HER       CLINGING       ARMS 

at  her  friend,  and  then  with  a  proud  flash  of  her  dark 
eyes,  she  swept  from  the  room  without  a  word,  nor 
did  Maimie  see  her  again  that  afternoon,  though  she 
stood  outside  her  door  entreating  with  tears  to  be  for- 
given. Poor  Kate!  Maimie's  shaft  had  gone  too 
near  a  vital  spot,  and  the  wound  amazed  and  terrified 
her.  Was  it  for  Ranald's  sake  alone  she  cared?  Yes, 
surely  it  was.  Then  why  this  sharp  new  pain  under 
the  hand  pressing  hard  upon  her  heart? 

Oh,  what  did  that  mean?  She  put  her  face  in  her 
pillow  to  hide  the  red  that  she  knew  was  flaming  in 
her  cheeks,  and  for  a  few  moments  gave  herself  up  to 
the  joy  that  was  flooding  her  whole  heart  and  soul  and 
all  her  tingling  veins.  Oh,  how  happy  she  was.  For 
long  she  had  heard  of  the  Glengarry  lad  from  Maimie 
and  more  from  Harry  till  there  had  grown  up  in  her 
heart  a  warm,  admiring  interest.  And  now  she  had 
come  to  know  him  for  herself!  How  little  after  all 
had  they  told  her  of  him.  What  a  man  he  was! 
How  strong  and  how  fearless!  How  true-hearted  and 
how  his  eyes  could  fill  with  love !  She  started  up. 
Love?  Love?  Ah,  where  was  her  joy!  How  chill 
the  day  had  grown  and  how  hateful  the  sunlight  on 
the  river.  She  drew  down  the  blind  and  threw  her- 
self once  more  upon  the,  bed,  shivering  and  sick  with 
pain — the  bitterest  that  heart  can  know.  Once  more 
she  started  up. 

"She  is  not  worthy  of  him!"  she  •  exclaimed, 
aloud;  "her  heart  is  not  deep  enough;  she  does  not, 
cannot  love  him,  and  oh,  if  some  one  would  only  let 
him  know!" 

345 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

She  would  tell  him  herself.  No!  No!  Maimie's 
sharp  arrow  was  quivering  still  in  her  heart.  Once 
more  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed.  How  could 
she  bear  this  that  had  stricken  her?  She  would  go 
home.  She  would  go  to  her  mother  to-morrow.  Go 
away  forever  from — ah — could  she?  No,  anything 
but  that !  She  could  not  go  away. 

Over  the  broad  river  the  warm  sunlight  lay  with 
kindly  glow,  and  the  world  was  full  of  the  soft,  sweet 
air  of  spring,  and  the  songs  of  mating  birds;  but  the 
hours  passed,  and  over  the  river  the  shadows  began  to 
creep,  and  the  whole  world  grew  dark,  and  the  songs 
of  the  birds  were  hushed  to  silence.  Then,  from  her 
room,  Kate  came  down  with  face  serene,  and  but  for 
the  eyes  that  somehow  made  one  think  of  tears,  with- 
out a  sign  of  the  storm  that  had  swept  her  soul.  She 
did  not  go  home.  She  was  too  brave  for  that.  She 
would  stay  and  fight  her  battle  to  the  end. 

That  was  a  dreary  week  for  Ranald.  He  was 
lonely  and  heartsick  for  the  woods  and  for  his  home 
and  friends,  but  chiefly  was  he  oppressed  with  the 
sense  of  having  played  the  fool  in  his  quarrel  with 
De  Lacy,  whom  he  was  beginning  to  admire  and  like. 
He  surely  might  have  avoided  that;  and  yet  whenever 
he  thought  of  the  game  that  had  swept  away  from 
Rouleau  all  his  winter's  earnings,  and  of  the  cruel  blow 
that  had  followed,  he  felt  his  muscles  stiffen  and  his 
teeth  set  tight  in  rage.  No,  he  would  do  it  all  again, 
nor  would  he  retreat  one  single  step  from  the  position 
he  had  taken,  but  would  see  his  quarrel  through  to 
the  end.  But  worst  of  all  he  had  not  seen  Maimie  all 

346 


HER        CLINGING       ARMS 

the  week.  His  experience  with  Harry  in  the  ordering  of 
his  suit  had  taught  him  the  importance  of  clothes,  and 
he  now  understood  as  he  could  not  before,  Maimie's 
manner  to  him.  "That  would  be  it,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "and  no  wonder.  What  would  she  do  with  a 
great,  coarse  tyke  like  me!"  Then,  in  spite  of  all  his 
loyalty,  he  could  not  help  contrasting  with  Maimie's 
uncertain  and  doubtful  treatment  of  him,  the  warm, 
frank  friendliness  of  Kate.  "She  did  not  mind  my 
clothes,"  he  thought,  with  a  glow  of  gratitude,  but 
sharply  checking  himself,  he  added,  "but  why  should 
she  care  ?' '  It  rather  pleased  him  to  think  that  Maimie 
cared  enough  to  feel  embarrassed  at  his  rough  dress. 
So  he  kept  away  from  the  Hotel  de  Cheval  Blanc  till 
his  new  suit  should  be  ready.  It  was  not  because  of 
his  dress,  however,  that  he  steadily  refused  Harry's 
invitation  to  the  picnic. 

"No,  I  will  not  go,"  he  said,  with  blunt  decision, 
after  listening  to  Harry's  pleading.  "It  is  Lieuten- 
ant De  Lacy's  picnic,  and  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him,  and  indeed  he  will  not  be  wanting  me!" 

"Oh,  he's  forgotten  all  about  that  little  affair," 
cried  Harry. 

"Has  he?     Indeed  then  if  he  is  a  man  he  has  not!'* 

"I  guess  he  hasn't  remembered  much  of  anything 
for  the  last  week,"  said  Harry,  with  a  slight  laugh. 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  pshaw,  he's  been  on  a  big  tear.  He  only 
sobered  up  yesterday. ' ' 

"Huh!"  grunted  Ranald,  contemptuously.  He 
had  little  respect  for  a  man  who  did  not  know  when 

347 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

he   had   had  enough.     "What  about  his  job?"    he 
asked. 

"His  job?  Oh,  I  see.  His  job  doesn't  worry  him 
much.  He's  absent  on  sick-leave.  But  he's  all  fit 
again  and  I  know  he  will  be  disappointed  if  you  do 
not  come  to-morrow." 

"I  will  not  go,"  said  Ranald,  with  final  decision, 
"and  you  can  tell  him  so,  and  you  can  tell  him 
why." 

And  Harry  did  tell  him  with  considerable  fullness 
and  emphasis  not  only  of  Ranald's  decision,  but  also 
Ranald's  opinion  of  him,  for  he  felt  that  it  would  do 
that  lordly  young  man  no  harm  to  know  that  a  man 
whom  he  was  inclined  to  patronize  held  him  in  con- 
tempt and  for  cause.  The  lieutenant  listened  for  a 
time  to  all  Harry  had  to  say  with  apparent  indiffer- 
ence, then  suddenly  interrupting  him,  he  said:  "Oh, 
I  say,  old  chap,  I  wouldn't  rub  it  in  if  I  were  you.  I 
have  a  more  or  less  vague  remembrance  of  having 
rather  indulged  in  heroics.  One  can't  keep  his  head  with 
poker  and  unlimited  brandy-and-sodas;  they  don't  go 
together.  It's  a  thing  I  almost  never  do;  never  in  a 
big  game,  but  the  thing  got  interesting  before  I  knew. 
But  I  say,  that  Glengarry  chap  plays  a  mighty  good 
game.  Must  get  him  on  again.  Feels  hot,  eh?  I 
will  make  that  all  right,  and  what's  the  French  chap's 
name — Boileau,  Rondeau,  eh?  Rouleau.  Yes,  and 
where  could  one  see  him?" 

"I  can  find  out  from  LeNoir,  who  will  be  some- 
where near  Ranald.  You  can't  get  him  away  from 
him." 

348 


HER       CLINGING       ARMS 

"Well,  do,"  said  the  lieutenant,  lazily.  "Bring 
LeNoir  to  see  me.  I  owe  that  Rouleau  chap  an  apol- 
ogy. Beastly  business!  And  I'll  fix  it  up  with  Mac- 
donald.  He  has  the  right  of  it,  by  Jove!  Rather 
lucky,  I  fancy,  he  didn't  yield  to  my  solicitations  for  a 
try  at  the  other  game — from  what  I  remember  of  the 
street  riot,  eh?  Would  not  mind  having  a  go  with 
him  with  the  gloves,  though.  I  will  see  him  to-mor- 
row morning.  Keep  your  mind  at  rest. ' ' 

Next  morning  when  LeNoir  came  to  his  work  he 
was  full  of  the  lieutenant's  praises  to  Ranald. 

"Das  fine  feller  le  Capitaine,  eh?  Das  de  Grand 
Seigneur  for  sure!  He's  mak  eet  all  right  wit  Rou- 
leau! He's  pay  de  cash  money  and  he's  mak  eet  de 
good  posish  for  him,  an'  set  him  up  the  champagne, 
too,  by  gar!" 

"Huh,"  grunted  Ranald.  ''Run  that  crib  around 
the  boom  there,  LeNoir;  break  it  up  and  keep  your 
gang  moving  to-day!" 

"Bon!"  said  LeNoir,  with  alacrity.  "I  give  'em 
de  big  move,  me!" 

But  however  unwilling  Ranald  was  to  listen  to 
LeNoir  singing  the  lieutenant's  praises,  when  he  met 
Harry  at  noon  in  the  office  he  was  even  more  enthu- 
siastic than  LeNoir  in  his  admiration  of  De  Lacy. 

"I  never  saw  the  likes  of  him,"  he  said.  "He 
could  bring  the  birds  out  of  the  trees  with  that  tongue 
of  his.  Indeed,  I  could  not  have  done  what  he  did 
whatever.  Man,  but  he  is  a  gentleman!" 

"And  are  you  going  this  evening?" 

"That  I  am,"  said  Ranald.  "What  else  could  I 
349 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

do?  I  could  not  help  myself;  he  made  me  feel  that 
mean  that  I  was  ready  to  do  anything." 

"All  right,"  said  Harry,  delighted,  "I  will  take 
my  canoe  around  for  you  after  six." 

"And,"  continued  Ranald,  with  a  little  hesitation, 
"he  told  me  he  would  be  wearing  a  jersey  and  duck 
trousers,  and  I  think  that  was  very  fine  of  him." 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Harry,  quite  mystified, 
"what  else  would  he  wear?" 

Ranald  looked  at  him  curiously  for  a  moment, 
and  said:  "A  swallow-tail,  perhaps,  or  a  blanket, 
maybe,"  and  he  turned  away  leaving  Harry  more 
mystified  than  ever. 

Soon  after  six,  Harry  paddled  around  in  his  canoe, 
and  gave  the  stern  to  Ranald.  What  a  joy  it  was  to 
him  to  be  in  a  canoe  stern  again ;  to  feel  the  rush  of 
the  water  under  his  knees ;  to  have  her  glide  swiftly 
on  her  soundless  way  down  the  full-bosomed,  sun- 
bathed river;  to  see  her  put  her  nose  into  the  little 
waves  and  gently,  smoothly  push  them  asunder  with 
never  a  splash  or  swerve;  to  send  her  along  straight 
and  true  as  an  arrow  in  its  flight,  and  then  flip!  flip 
to  swing  her  off  a  floating  log  or  around  an  awkward 
boat  lumbering  with  clumsy  oars.  That  was  to  be 
alive  again.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it!  Of  all  things  that 
move  to  the  will  of  man  there  is  none  like  the  canoe. 
It  alone  has  the  sweet,  smooth  glide,  the  swift,  silent 
dart  answering  the  paddle  sweep ;  the  quick  swerve  in 
response  to  the  turn  of  the  wrist.  Ranald  felt  as 
if  he  could  have  gladly  paddled  on  right  out  to  the 
open  sea;  but  sweeping  around  a  bend  a  long,  clear 

350 


HER       CLINGING       ARMS 

call  hailed  them,  and  there,  far  down  at  the  bottom 
of  a  little  bay,  at  the  foot  of  the  big,  scarred,  and 
wrinkled  rock  the  smoke  and  glimmer  of  the  camp-fire 
could  be  seen.  A  flip  of  the  stern  paddle,  and  the 
canoe  pointed  for  the  waving  figure,  and  under  the 
rhythmic  sweep  of  the  paddles,  sped  like  an  arrow 
down  the  waters,  sloping  to  the  shore.  There,  on  a 
great  rock,  stood  Kate,  directing  their  course. 

"Here's  a  good  landing,"  she  cried.  Right  at  the 
rock  dashed  the  canoe  at  full  speed.  A  moment  more 
and  her  dainty  nose  would  be  battered  out  of  all  shape 
on  the  cruel  rock,  but  a  strong  back  stroke,  a  turn  of 
the  wrist,  flip,  and  she  lay  floating  quietly  beside  the 
rock. 

"Splendid!"  cried  Kate. 

"Well  done,  by  Jove!"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant, 
who  was  himself  an  expert  with  the  paddle. 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  idea  how  fine  you  look," 
cried  Kate. 

"And  I  am  quite  sure,"  answered  Harry,  "you 
have  no  suspicion  of  what  a  beautiful  picture  you  all 
make."  And  a  beautiful  picture  it  was:  the  great 
rocky  cliff  in  the  background,  tricked  out  in  its  new 
spring  green  of  moss  and  shrub  and  tree ;  the  grassy 
plot  at  its  foot  where  a  little  stream  gurgled  out  from 
the  rock;  the  blazing  camp-fire  with  the  little  group 
about  it;  and  in  front  the  sunlit  river.  How  happy 
they  all  were!  And  how  ready  to  please  and  to  be 
pleased.  Even  little  Mr.  Sims  had  his  charm.  And 
at  the  making  of  the  tea,  which  Kate  had  taken  in 
charge  with  Ranald  superintending,  what  fun  there 

35« 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

was  with  burning  of  fingers  and  upsetting  of  kettles ! 
And  then,  the  talk  and  the  laughter  at  the  lieutenant's 
brilliant  jokes,  and  the  chaffing  of  the  "lumbermen" 
over  their  voracious  appetites!  It  was  an  hour  of 
never-to-be-forgotten  pleasure.  They  were  all  chil- 
dren again,  and  with  children's  hearts  were  happy  in 
childhood's  simple  joys.  And  why  not?  There  are 
no  joys  purer  than  those  of  the  open  air;  of  grass  and 
trees  flooded  with  the  warm  light  and  sweet  scents  of 
the  soft  springtime.  Too  soon  it  all  came  to  an  end, 
and  then  they  set  off  to  -convoy  the  stately  old  lady 
to  her  carriage  at  the  top  of  the  cliff.  Far  in  front 
went  Kate,  disdaining  the  assistance  of  Harry  and 
Mr.  Sims,  who  escorted  her.  Near  at  hand  the  lieu- 
tenant was  in  attendance  upon  Maimie,  who  seemed 
to  need  his  constant  assistance;  for  the  way  was 
rough,  and  there  were  so  many  jutting  points  of  rock 
for  wonderful  views,  and  often  the  very  prettiest 
plants  were  just  out  of  reach.  Last  of  all  came 
Madame  De  Lacy,  climbing  the  steep  path  with  diffi- 
culty and  holding  fast  to  Ranald's  arm.  With  charm- 
ing grace  she  discoursed  of  the  brave  days  of  old  in 
which  her  ancestors  had  played  a  worthy  part.  An 
interesting  tale  it  was,  but  in  spite  of  all  her  charm  of 
speech,  and  grace  of  manner,  Ranald  could  not  keep 
his  mind  from  following  his  heart  and  eyes  that  noted 
every  step  and  move  of  the  beautiful  girl,  flitting  in 
and  out  among  the  trees  before  them.  And  well  it 
was  that  his  eyes  were  following  so  close ;  for,  as  she 
was  reaching  for  a  dainty  spray  of  golden  birch,  hold- 
ing by  the  lieutenant's  hand,  the  treacherous  moss 

352 


HER       CLINGING       ARMS 

slipped  from  under  Maimie's  feet,  and  with  a  piercing 
shriek  she  went  rolling  down  the  sloping  mountain-side, 
dragging  her  escort  with  her.  Like  a  flash  of  light 
Ranald  dropped  madame's  arm,  and  seizing  the  top  of 
a  tall  birch  that  grew  up  from  the  lower  ledge,  with  a 
trick  learned  as  a  boy  in  the  Glengarry  woods,  he 
swung  himself  clear  over  the  edge,  and  dropping 
lightly  on  the  mossy  bank  below,  threw  himself  in 
front  of  the  rolling  bodies,  and  seizing  them  held  fast. 
In  another  moment  leaving  the  lieutenant  to  shift  for 
himself,  Ranald  was  on  his  knees  beside  Maimie,  who 
lay  upon  the  moss,  white  and  still.  "Some  water,  for 
God's  sake!"  he  cried,  hoarsely,  to  De  Lacy,  who 
stood  dazed  beside  him,  and  then,  before  the  lieuten- 
ant could  move,  Ranald  lifted  Maimie  in  his  arms,  as 
if  she  had  been  an  infant,  and  bore  her  down  to  the 
river's  edge,  and  laid  her  on  the  grassy  bank.  Then, 
taking  up  a  double  handful  of  water,  he  dashed  it  in 
her  face.  With  a  little  sigh  she  opened  her  eyes,  and 
letting  them  rest  upon  his  face,  said,  gently,  "Oh, 
Ranald,  I  am  so  glad  you — I  am  so  sorry  I  have  been 
so  bad  to  you."  She  could  say  no  more,  but  from 
her  closed  eyes  two  great  tears  made  their  way  down 
her  pale  cheeks. 

"Oh,  Maimie,  Maimie,"  said  Ranald,  in  a  broken 
voice,  "tell  me  you  are  not  hurt." 

Again  she  opened  her  eyes  and  said,  "No,  I  am 
not  hurt,  but  you  will  take  me  home;  you  will  not 
leave  me!"  Her  fingers  closed  upon  his  hand. 

With  a  quick,  strong  clasp,  he  replied:  "I  will  not 
leave  you." 

353 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  and  soon 
they  were  all  about  her,  exclaiming  and  lamenting. 

"What  a  silly  girl  I  am,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
tremulous  laugh,  "and  what  a  fright  I  must  have  given 
you  all!" 

"Don't  rise,  my  dear,"  said  Madame  De  Lacy, 
"until  you  feel  quite  strong." 

"Oh,  I  am  quite  right,"  said  Maimie,  confidently; 
"I  am  sure  I  am  not  hurt  in  the  least." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  thankful!"  cried  Kate. 

"It  is  the  Lord's  mercy,"  said  Ranald,  in  a  voice 
of  deep  emotion. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  are  not  hurt?"  said 
Harry,  anxiously. 

"Yes,  I  really  think  I  am  all  right,  but  what  a 
fright  I  must  look!" 

"Thank  God!"  said  Harry  fervently;  "I  guess 
you're  improving,"  at  which  they  all  laughed. 

"Now  I  think  we  must  get  home,"  said  Madame 
De  Lacy.  "Do  you  think  you  can  walk,  Maimie?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  cried  Maimie,  and  taking  Ranald's 
hand,  she  tried  to  stand  up,  but  immediately  sank 
back  with  a  groan. 

"Oh,  it  is  my  foot,"  she  said,  "I  am  afraid  it  is 
hurt." 

"Let  me  see!"  cried  Harry.  "I  don't  think  it  is 
broken,"  he  said,  after  feeling  it  carefully,  "but  I 
have  no  doubt  it  is  a  very  bad  sprain.  You  can't 
walk  for  certain." 

"Then  we  shall  have  to  carry  her,"  said  Madame 
De  Lacy,  and  she  turned  to  her  son. 

354 


HER       CLINGING       ARMS 

"I  fear  I  can  offer  no  assistance,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
pointing  to  his  arm  which  was  hanging  limp  at  his  side. 

' '  Why,  Albert,  are  you  hurt ?  What  is  the  matter? 
You  are  hurt!"  cried  his  mother,  anxiously. 

"Not  much,  but  I  fear  my  arm  is  useless.  You 
might  feel  it,"  he  said  to  Ranald. 

Carefully  Ranald  passed  his  hand  down  the  arm. 

"Say  nothing,"  whispered  the  lieutenant  to  him. 
"It's  broken.  Tie  it  up  some  way."  Without  a 
word  Ranald  stripped  the  bark  of  a  birch  tree,  and 
making  a  case,  laid  the  arm  in  it  and  bound  it  firmly 
with  his  silk  handkerchief. 

"We  ought  to  have  a  sling,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Kate. 

"Here,"  said  Madame  De  Lacy,  untying  a  lace 
scarf  from  her  neck,  "take  this." 

Kate  took  the  scarf,  and  while  Ranald  held  the 
arm  in  place  she  deftly  made  it  into  a  sling. 

"There,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "that  feels  quite 
comfortable.  Now  let's  go." 

"Come,  Maimie,  I'll  carry  you  up  the  hill,"  said 
Harry. 

"No,"  said  Ranald,  decidedly,  "she  will  go  in  the 
canoe.  That  will  be  easier." 

"Quite  right,"  said  the  lieutenant.  "Sims,  per- 
haps you  will  give  my  mother  your  arm,  and  if  Miss 
Kate  will  be  kind  enough  to  escort  me,  we  can  all 
four  go  in  the  carriage ;  but  first  we  shall  see  the  rest 
of  the  party  safely  off." 

"Come,  then,  Maimie,"  said  Harry,  approaching 
his  sister;  "let  me  carry  you." 

355 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

But  Maimie  glanced  up  at  Ranald,  who  without  a 
word,  lifted  her  in  his  arms. 

"Put  your  arm  about  his  neck,  Maimie,"  cried 
Harry,  "you  will  go  more  comfortably  that  way. 
Ranald  won't  mind,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 

At  the  touch  of  her  clinging  arms  the  blood 
mounted  slowly  into  Ranald's  neck  and  face,  showing 
red  through  the  dark  tan  of  liis  skin. 

"How  strong  you  are,"  said  Maimie,  softly,  "and 
how  easily  you  carry  me.  But  you  would  soon  tire 
of  me,"  she  added  with  a  little  laugh. 

"I  would  not  tire  forever,"  said  Ranald,  as  he  laid 
her  gently  down  in  the  canoe. 

"I  shall  send  the  carriage  to  the  wharf  for  you," 
said  Madame  De  Lacy,  "and  you  will  come  right 
home  to  me,  and  you,  too,  Miss  Raymond." 

Ranald  took  his  place  in  the  stern  with  Maimie 
reclining  in  the  canoe  so  as  to  face  him. 

"You  are  sure  you  are  comfortable?"  he  said,  with 
anxious  solicitude  in  his  tone. 

"Quite,"  she  replied,  with  a  cosy  little  snuggle 
down  among  the  cushions  placed  around  her. 

"Then  let  her  go,"  cried  Ranald,  dipping  in  his 
paddle. 

"Good  by,"  cried  Kate,  waving  her  hand  at  them 
from  the  rock.  "We'll  meet  you  at  the  wharf.  Take 
good  care  of  your  invalid,  Ranald." 

With  hardly  a  glance  at  her  Ranald  replied:  "You 
may  be  sure  of  that,"  and  with  a  long,  swinging  stroke 
shot  the  canoe  out  into  the  river.  For  a  moment  or 
two  Kate  stood  looking  after  them,  and  then,  with  a 

356 


HER        CLINGING       ARMS 

weary  look  in  her  face,  turned,  and  with  the  lieuten- 
ant, followed  Madame  De  Lacy  and  Mr.  Sims. 

"You  are  tired,"  said  the  lieutenant,  looking  into 
her  face. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  sigh,  "I  think  I 
am  tired." 

The  paddle  home  was  all  too  short  to  Ranald,  but 
whether  it  took  minutes  or  hours  he  could  not  have 
told.  As  in  a  dream  he  swung  his  paddle  and  guided 
his  canoe.  He  saw  only  the  beautiful  face  and  the 
warm  light  in  the  bright  eyes  before  him.  He  woke 
to  see  Kate  on  the  wharf  before  them,  and  for  a 
moment  he  wondered  how  she  came  there.  Once 
more,  as  he  bore  her  from  the  canoe  to  the  carriage, 
he  felt  Maimie's  arms  clinging  about  his  neck  and 
heard  her  whisper,  "You  will  not  leave  me,  Ranald," 
and  again  he  replied,  "No,  I  will  not  leave  you." 

Swiftly  the  De  Lacy  carriage  bore  them  through 
the  crooked,  climbing  streets  of  the  city  and  out  along 
the  country  road,  then  up  a  stately  avenue  of  beeches, 
and  drew  up  before  the  stone  steps  of  a  noble 
old  chateau.  Once  more  Ranald  lifted  Maimie  in 
his  arms  and  carried  her  up  the  broad  steps,  and 
through  the  great  oak-paneled  hall  into  Madame  De 
Lacy's  own  cosy  sitting-room,  and  there  he  laid  her 
safely  in  a  snug  nest  of  cushions  prepared  for  her. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  do,  but  to  say  good  by 
and  come  away,  but  it  was  Harry  that  first  brought 
this  to  Ranald's  mind. 

"Good  by,  Ranald,"  said  Maimie,  smiling  up  into 
his  face.  "I  cannot  thank  you  for  all  you  have  done 

357 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

to-day,  but  I  am  sure  Madame  De  Lacy  will  let  you 
come  to  see  me  sometimes." 

"I  shall  be  always  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  little 
lady,  with  gentle,  old-fashioned  courtesy,  "for  we 
both  owe  much  to  you  this  day." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Ranald,  quietly,  "I  will  come," 
and  passed  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  Harry  and 
Kate. 

At  the  great  hall  door,  Kate  stood  and  watched 
them  drive  away,  waving  her  hand  in  farewell. 

"Good  by,"  cried  Harry,  "don't  forget  us  in  your 
stately  palace,"  but  Ranald  made  no  reply.  He  had 
no  thought  for  her.  But  still  she  stood  and  watched 
the  carriage  till  the  beeches  hid  it  from  her  view,  and 
then,  with  her  hand  pressed  against  her  side,  she 
turned  slowly  into  the  hall. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  down  the  stately  avenue, 
Ranald  sat  absorbed  in  deepest  thought,  heeding  not 
his  companion's  talk. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Ranald?  What  are 
you  thinking  of?"  at  last  cried  Harry,  impatiently. 

"What?"  answered  Ranald,  in  strange  confusion, 
"I  cannot  tell  you."  Unconsciously  as  he  spoke  he 
put  up  his  hand  to  his  neck,  for  he  was  still  feeling  the 
pressure  of  those  clinging  arms,  and  all  the  way  back 
the  sounds  of  the  rolling  wheels  and  noisy,  rattling 
streets  wrought  themselves  into  one  sweet  refrain, 
"You  will  not  leave  me,  Ranald,"  and  often  in  his 
heart  he  answered,  "No,  I  will  not,"  with  such  a 
look  on  his  face  as  men  wear  when  pledging  life  and 
honor. 

358 


CHAPTER  XXI 

I  WILL  REMEMBER 

The  Albert  was  by  all  odds  the  exclusive  club  in 
the  capital  city  of  upper  Canada,  for  men  were  loath 
to  drop  the  old  name.  Its  members  belonged  to  the 
best  families,  and  moved  in  the  highest  circles,  and 
the  entrt  was  guarded  by  a  committee  of  exceeding 
vigilance.  They  had  a  very  real  appreciation  of  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  their  order,  and  they  cherished 
for  all  who  assayed  to  enter  the  most  lofty  ideal.  Not 
wealth  alone  could  purchase  entrance  within  those 
sacred  precincts  unless,  indeed,  it  were  of  sufficient 
magnitude  and  distributed  with  judicious  and  unvul- 
gar  generosity.  A  tinge  of  blue  in  the  common  red 
blood  of  humanity  commanded  the  most  favorable 
consideration,  but  when  there  was  neither  cerulean 
tinge  of  blood  nor  gilding  of  station  the  candidate  for 
membership  in  the  Albert  was  deemed  unutterable  in 
his  presumption,  and  rejection  absolute  and  final  was 
inevitable.  A  single  black  ball  shut  him  out.  So  it 
came  as  a  surprise  to  most  outsiders,  though  not  to 
Ranald  himself,  when  that  young  gentleman's  name 
appeared  in  the  list  of  accepted  members  in  the  Albert. 
He  had  been  put  up  by  both  Raymond  and  St.  Clair, 
but  not  even  the  powerful  influence  of  these  sponsors 
would  have  availed  with  the  members  had  it  not  come 
to  be  known  that  young  Macdonald  was  a  friend  of 

359 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

Captain  De  Lacy's  of  Quebec,  don't  you  know!  and 
a  sport,  begad,  of  the  first  water;  for  the  Alberts 
favored  athletics,  and  loved  a  true  sport  almost  as 
much  as  they  loved  a  lord.  They  never  regretted  their 
generous  concession  in  this  instance,  for  during  the 
three  years  of  his  membership,  it  was  the  Glengarry 
Macdonald  that  had  brought  glory  to  their  club  more 
than  any  half  dozen  of  their  other  champions.  In 
their  finals  with  the  Montrealers  two  years  ago,  it  was 
he,  the  prince  of  all  Canadian  half-backs,  as  every  one 
acknowledged,  who  had  snatched  victory  from  the 
exultant  enemy  in  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then, 
too,  they  had  never  ceased  to  be  grateful  for  the  way 
in  which  he  had  delivered  the  name  of  their  club  from 
the  reproach  cast  upon  it  by  the  challenge  long 
flaunted  before  their  aristocratic  noses  by  the  cads  of 
the  Athletic,  when  he  knocked  out  in  a  bout  with  the 
gloves,  the  chosen  representative  of  that  ill-favored 
club — a  professional,  too,  by  Jove,  as  it  leaked  out 
later. 

True,  there  were  those  who  thought  him  too  par- 
ticular, and  undoubtedly  he  had  peculiar  ideas.  He 
never  drank,  never  played  for  money,  and  he  never 
had  occasion  to  use  words  in  the  presence  of  men  that 
would  be  impossible  before  their  mothers  and  sisters ; 
and  there  was  a  quaint,  old-time  chivalry  about  him 
that  made  him  a  friend  of  the  weak  and  helpless,  and 
the  champion  of  women,  not  only  of  those  whose 
sheltered  lives  had  kept  them  fair  and  pure,  but  of 
those  others  as  well,  sad-eyed  and  soul-stained,  the 
cruel  sport  of  lustful  men.  For  his  open  scorn  of 

360 


I        WILL        REMEMBER 

their  callous  lust  some  hated  him,  but  all  with  true 
men's  hearts  loved  him. 

The  club-rooms  were  filling  up ;  the  various  games 
were  in  full  swing. 

"Hello,  little  Merrill!"  Young  Merrill  looked  up 
from  his  billiards. 

"Glengarry,  by  all  the  gods!"  throwing  down  his 
cue,  and  rushing  at  Ranald.  "Where  in  this  lonely 
universe  have  you  been  these  many  months,  and  how 
are  you,  old  chap?"  Merrill  was  excited. 

"All  right,  Merrill?"  inquired  the  deep  voice. 

"Right,  so  help  me — "exclaimed  Merrill,  solemnly, 
lifting  up  his  hand.  ' '  He's  inquiring  after  my  morals, ' ' 
he  explained  to  the  men  who  were  crowding  about; 
"and  I  don't  give  a  blank  blank  who  knows  it," 
continued  little  Merrill,  warmly,  "my  present  magnifi- 
cent manhood,"  smiting  himself  on  the  breast,  "I  owe 
to  that  same  dear  old  solemnity  there,"  pointing  to 
Ranald. 

"Shut  up,  Merrill,  or  I'll  spank  you,"  said  Ranald. 

"You  will,  eh?"  cried  Merrill,  looking  at  him. 
"Look  at  him  vaunting  his  beastly  fitness  over  the 
frail  and  weak.  I  say,  men,  did  you  ever  behold  such 
condition!  See  that  clear  eye,  that  velvety  skin, 
that — Oh,  I  say!  pax!  pax!  peccavi!" 

"There,"  said  Ranald,  putting  him  down  from  the 
billiard-table, ' '  perhaps  you  will  learn  when  to  be  seen. ' ' 

"Brute,"  murmured  little  Merrill,  rubbing  the  sore 
place ;  " but  ain't  he  fit  ?' '  he  added,  delightedly.  And 
fit  he  looked.  Four  years  of  hard  work  and  clean 
living  had  done  for  him  everything  that  it  lies  in  years 

361 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

to  do.  They  had  made  of  the  lank,  raw,  shanty  lad  a 
man,  and  such  a  man  as  a  sculptor  would  have  loved 
to  behold.  Straight  as  a  column  he  stood  two  inches 
over  six  feet,  but  of  such  proportions  that  seeing  him 
alone,  one  would  never  have  guessed  his  height.  His 
head  and  neck  rose  above  his  square  shoulders  with 
perfect  symmetry  and  poise.  His  dark  face,  tanned 
now  to  a  bronze,  with  features  clear-cut  and  strong, 
was  lit  by  a  pair  of  dark  brown  eyes,  honest,  fearless, 
and  glowing  with  a  slumbering  fire  that  men  would 
hesitate  to  stir  to  flame.  The  lines  of  his  mouth  told 
of  self-control,  and  the  cut  of  his  chin  proclaimed  a 
will  of  iron,  and  altogether,  he  bore  himself  with  an 
air  of  such  quiet  strength  and  cool  self-confidence  that 
men  never  feared  to  follow  where  he  led.  Yet  there 
was  a  reserve  about  him  that  set  him  a  little  apart 
from  men,  and  a  kind  of  shyness  that  saved  him  from 
any  suspicion  of  self-assertion.  In  vain  he  tried  to 
escape  from  the  crowd  that  gathered  about  him,  and 
more  especially  from  the  foot-ball  men,  who  utterly 
adored  him. 

"You  can't  do  anything  for  a  fellow  that  doesn't 
drink,"  complained  Starry  Hamilton,  the  big  cap- 
tain of  the  foot-ball  team. 

"Drink!  a  nice  captain  you  are,  Starry,  "  said 
Ranald,  "and  Thanksgiving  so  near." 

"We  haven't  quite  shut  down  yet,"  explained  the 
captain. 

"Then  I  suppose  a  cigar  is  permitted,"  replied 
Ranald,  ordering  the  steward  to  bring  his  best.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  called  for  his  mail,  and  excusing  him- 

362 


I        WILL         REMEMBER 

self,  slipped  into  one  of  the  private  rooms.  The  man- 
ager of  the  Raymond  &  St.  Clair  Company  and 
prominent  clubman,  much  sought  after  in  social  cir- 
cles, he  was  bound  to  find  letters  of  importance  await- 
ing him,  but  hastily  shuffling  the  bundle,  he  selected 
three,  and  put  the  rest  in  his  pocket. 

"So  she's  back,"  he  said  to  himself,  lifting  up  one 
in  a  square  envelope,  addressed  in  large,  angular  writ- 
ing. He  turned  it  over  in  his  hand,  feasting  his  eyes 
upon  it,  as  a  boy  holds  a  peach,  prolonging  the  blissful 
anticipation.  Then  he  opened  it  slowly  and  read: 

MY  DEAR  RANALD:  All  the  way  home  I  was  hoping  that 
on  my  return,  fresh  from  the  "  stately  homes  of  England,"  and 
from  association  with  lords  and  dukes  and  things,  you  would 
be  here  to  receive  your  share  of  the  luster  and  aroma  my  pres- 
ence would  shed  (that's  a  little  mixed,  I  fear);  but  with  a  most 
horrible  indifference  to  your  privileges  you  are  away  at  the 
earth's  end,  no  one  knows  where.  Father  said  you  were  to  be 
home  to-day,  so  though  you  don't  in  the  least  deserve  it,  I  am 
writing  you  a  note  of  forgiveness;  and  will  you  be  sure  to  come 
to  my  special  party  to-morrow  night?  I  put  it  off  till  to-morrow 
solely  on  your  account,  and  in  spite  of  Aunt  Frank,  and  let  me 
tell  you  that  though  I  have  seen  such  heaps  of  nice  men.  and 
all  properly  dear  and  devoted,  still  I  want  to  see  you,  so  you 
must  come.  Everything  else  will  keep.  Yours, 

MAIMIE. 

Over  and  over  again  he  read  the  letter,  till  the  fire 
in  his  eyes  began  to  gleam  and  his  face  became  radi- 
ant with  a  tender  glow. 

"  'Yours,  Maimie,'  eh?  I  wonder  now  what  she 
means,"  he  mused.  "Seven  years  and  for  my  life  I 
don't  know  yet,  but  to-morrow  night — yes,  to-mor- 
row night,  I  will  know!"  He  placed  the  letter  in  its 
envelope  and  put  it  carefully  in  his  inside  pocket. 

363 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Now  for  Kate,  dear  old  girl,  no  better  anywhere." 
He  opened  his  letter  and  read : 

DEAR  RANALD:  What  a  lot  of  people  will  be  delighted  to 
see  you  back!  First,  dear  old  Dr.  Marshall,  who  is  in  despair 
over  the  Institute,  of  which  he  declares  only  a  melancholy  ruin 
will  be  left  if  you  do  not  speedily  return.  Indeed,  it  is  pretty 
bad.  The  boys  are  quite  terrible,  and  even  my  "angels"  are 
becoming  infected.  Your  special  pet,  Coley,  after  reducing 
poor  Mr.  Locke  to  the  verge  of  nervous  prostration,  has  "  quit," 
and  though  I  have  sought  him  in  his  haunts,  and  used  my  very 
choicest  blandishments,  he  remains  obdurate.  To  my  remon- 
strances, he  finally  deigned  to  reply:  "  Naw,  they  ain't  none 
of  'em  any  good  no  more;  them  ducks  is  too  pious  for  me." 
I  don't  know  whether  you  will  consider  that  a  compliment  or 
not.  So  the  Institute  and  all  its  people  will  welcome  you  with 
acclaims  of  delight  and  sighs  of  relief.  And  some  one  else 
whom  you  adore,  and  who  adores  you,  will  rejoice  to  see  you. 
I  have  begged  her  from  Maimie  for  a  few  precious  days.  But 
that's  a  secret,  and  last  of  all  and  least  of  all,  there  is 

Your  friend, 

KATE. 

P.  S.  —  Of  course  you  will  be  at  the  party  to-morrow  night 
Maimie  looks  lovelier  than  ever,  and  she  will  be  so  glad  to 
see  you.  K. 

"What  a  trump  she  is,"  murmured  Ranald;  "un- 
selfish, honest  to  the  core,  and  steady  as  a  rock. 
'Some  one  else  whom  you  adore.'  Who  can  that  be? 
By  Jove,  is  it  possible?  I  will  go  right  up  to-night." 

His  last  letter  was  from  Mr.  St.  Clair,  who  was  the 
chief  executive  of  the  firm.  He  glanced  over  it  hur- 
riedly, then  with  a  curious  blending  of  surprise,  per- 
plexity, and  dismay  on  his  face,  he  read  it  again  with 
careful  deliberation: 

MY  DEAR  RANALD:  Welcome  home!  We  shall  all  be 
delighted  to  see  you.  Your  letter  from  North  Bay,  which  reached 
me  two  days  ago,  contained  information  that  places  us  in  rather 

364 


I        WILL         REMEMBER 

an  awkward  position.  Last  May,  just  after  you  left  for  the  north, 
Colonel  Thorp,  of  the  British-American  Coal  and  Lumber  Com- 
pany, operating  in  British  Columbia  and  Michigan,  called  to 
see  me,  and  made  an  offer  of  $75,000  for  our  Bass  River 
limits.  Of  course  you  know  we  are  rather  anxious  to  unload, 
and  at  first  I  regarded  his  offer  with  favor.  Soon  afterwards  I 
received  your  first  report,  sent  apparently  on  your  way  up.  I 
thereupon  refused  Colonel  Thorp's  offer.  Then  evidently  upon 
the  strength  of  your  report,  which  I  showed  him,  Colonel  Thorp, 
who  by  the  way  is  a  very  fine  fellow,  but  a  very  shrewd  business 
man,  raised  his  offer  to  an  even  hundred  thousand.  This  offer  I 
feel  inclined  to  accept.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  we  have  more 
standing  timber  than  we  can  handle,  and  as  you  know,  we  are 
really  badly  crippled  for  ready  money.  It  is  a  little  unfortunate 
that  your  last  report  should  be  so  much  less  favorable  in  regard 
to  the  east  half  of  the  limits.  However,  I  don't  suppose  there  is 
any  need  of  mentioning  that  to  Colonel  Thorp,  especially  as  his 
company  are  getting  a  good  bargain  as  it  is,  and  one  which  of 
themselves,  they  could  not  possibly  secure  from  the  government. 
I  write  you  this  note  in  case  you  should  run  across  Colonel  Thorp 
in  town  to-morrow,  and  inadvertently  say  something  that  might 
complicate  matters.  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  be  able  to 
close  the  deal  in  a  few  days. 

Now  I  want  to  say  again  how  delighted  we  all  are  to  have 
you  back.  We  never  realized  how  much  we  were  dependent 
upon  you.  Mr.  Raymond  and  I  have  been  talking  matters  over, 
and  we  have  agreed  that  some  changes  ought  to  be  made,  which  I 
venture  to  say  will  not  be  altogether  disagreeable  to  you.  I  shall 
see  you  first  thing  in  the  morning  about  the  matter  of  the  limits. 

Maimie  has  got  home,  and  is,  I  believe,  expecting  you  at  her 
party  to-morrow  night.    Indeed,  I  understand  she  was  determined 
that  it  should  jiot  come  off  until  you  had  returned,  which  shows 
she  shares  the  opinion  of  the  firm  concerning  you. 
I  am  yours  sincerely, 

EUGENE  ST.  CLAIR, 

i  Ranald  sat  staring  at  the  letter  for  a  long  time. 
He  saw  with  perfect  clearness  Mr.  St.  Glair's  meaning, 
and  a  sense  of  keen  humiliation  possessed  him  as  he 
realized  what  it  was  that  he  was  expected  to  do.  But 

365 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

it  took  some  time  for  the  full  significance  of  the  situ- 
ation to  dawn  upon  him.  None  knew  better  than  he 
how  important  it  was  to  the  firm  that  this  sale  should 
be  effected.  The  truth  was  if  the  money  market 
should  become  at  all  close  the  firm  would  undoubtedly 
find  themselves  in  serious  difficulty.  Ruin  to  the 
company  meant  not  only  the  blasting  of  his  own  pros- 
pects, but  misery  to  her  whom  he  loved  better  than 
life;  and  after  all,  what  he  was  asked  to  do  was  noth- 
ing more  than  might  be  done  any  day  in  the  world  of 
business.  Every  buyer  is  supposed  to  know  the  value 
of  the  thing  he  buys,  and  certainly  Colonel  Thorp 
should  not  commit  his  company  to  a  deal  involving 
such  a  large  sum  of  money  without  thoroughly  inform- 
ing himself  in  regard  to  the  value  of  the  limits  in 
question,  and  when  he,  as  an  employe1  of  the  Raymond 
and  St.  Clair  Lumber  Company,  gave  in  his  report, 
surely  his  responsibility  ceased.  He  was  not  asked  to 
present  any  incorrect  report;  he  could  easily  make  it 
convenient  to  be  absent  until  the  deal  was  closed. 
Furthermore,  the  chances  were  that  the  British-Ameri- 
can Coal  and  Lumber  Company  would  still  have  good 
value  for  their  money,  for  the  west  half  of  the  limits 
was  exceptionally  good;  and  besides,  what  right  had 
he  to  besmirch  the  honor  of  his  employer,  and  to  set 
his  judgment  above  that  of  a  man  of  much  greater 
experience?  Ranald  understood  also  Mr.  St.  Clair' s 
reference  to  the  changes  in  the  firm,  and  it  gave  him 
no  small  satisfaction  to  think  that  in  four  years  he  had 
risen  from  the  position  of  lumber  checker  to  that  of 
manager,  with  an  offer  of  a  partnership ;  nor  could  he 

366 


I        WILL         REMEMBER 

mistake  the  suggestion  in  Mr.  St.  Clair's  closing 
words.  Every  interest  he  had  in  life  would  be  fur- 
thered by  the  consummation  of  the  deal,  and  would 
be  imperiled  by  his  refusing  to  adopt  Mr.  St.  Clair's 
suggestion.  Still,  argue  as  he  might,  Ranald  never 
had  any  doubt  as  to  what,  as  a  man  of  honor,  he 
ought  to  do.  Colonel  Thorp  was  entitled  to  the  infor- 
mation that  he  and  Mr.  St.  Clair  alone  possessed. 
Between  his  interests  and  his  conscience  the  conflict 
raged. 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  I  ought  to  do,"  he  groaned, 
all  the  time  battling  against  the  conviction  that  the 
information  he  possessed  should  by  rights  be  given  to 
Colonel  Thorp.  Finally,  in  despair  of  coming  to  a 
decision,  he  seized  his  hat,  saying,  "I  will  go  and  see 
Kate,"  and  slipping  out  of  a  side  door,  he  set  off  for 
the  Raymond  home.  "I  will  just  look  up  Coley  on 
the  way,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  diving  down  an 
alley,  he  entered  a  low  saloon  with  a  billiard  hall 
attached.  There,  as  he  had  expected,  acting  as 
marker,  he  found  Coley. 

Mike  Cole,  or  Coley,  as  his  devoted  followers 
called  him,  was  king  of  St.  Joseph's  ward.  Every- 
where in  the  ward  his  word  ran  as  law.  About  two 
years  ago  Coley  had  deigned  to  favor  the  Institute 
with  a  visit,  his  gang  following  him.  They  were  wel- 
comed with  demonstrations  of  joy,  and  regaled  with 
cakes  and  tea,  all  of  which  Coley  accepted  with  lordly 
condescension.  After  consideration,  Coley  decided 
that  the  night  classes  might  afford  a  not  unpleasant 
alternative  on  cold  nights,  to  alley-ways  and  saloons. 

367 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

and  he  allowed  the  gang  to  join.  Thenceforth  the 
successful  conduct  of  the  classes  depended  upon  the 
ability  of  the  superintendent  to  anticipate  Coley's 
varying  moods  and  inclinations,  for  that  young  man 
claimed  and  exercised  the  privilege  of  introducing 
features  agreeable  to  the  gang,  though  not  necessa- 
rily upon  the  regular  curriculum  of  study.  Some  time 
after  Ranald's  appearance  in  the  Institute  as  an  assist- 
ant, it  happened  one  night  that  a  sudden  illness  of 
the  superintendent  laid  upon  his  shoulders  the  respon- 
sibility of  government.  The  same  night  it  also  hap- 
pened that  Coley  saw  fit  to  introduce  the  enlivening 
but  quite  impromptu  feature  of  a  song  and  dance. 
To  this  Ranald  objected,  and  was  invited  to  put  the 
gang  out  if  he  was  man  enough.  After  the  ladies  had 
withdrawn  beyond  the  reach  of  missiles,  Ranald 
adopted  the  unusual  tactics  of  preventing  exit  by  lock- 
ing the  doors,  ande-then  immediately  became  involved 
in  a  discussion  with  Coley  and  his  followers.  It  cost 
the  Institute  something  for  furniture  and  windows, 
but  thenceforth  in  Ranald's  time  there  was  peace. 
Coley  ruled  as  before,  but  his  sphere  of  influence  was 
limited,  and  the  day  arrived  when  it  became  the  am- 
bition of  Coley's  life  to  bring  the  ward  and  its  deni- 
zens into  subjection  to  his  own  over-lord,  whom  he 
was  prepared  to  follow  to  the  death.  But  like  any 
other  work  worth  doing,  this  took  days  and  weeks  and 
months. 

''Hello,  Coley!"  said  Ranald,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon 
his  sometime  ally  and  slave.  "If  you  are  not  too 
busy  I  would  like  you  to  go  along  with  me." 

368 


I        WILL         REMEMBER 

Coley  looked  around  as  if  seeking  escape. 

"Come  along,"  said  Ranald,  quietly,  and  Coley, 
knowing  that  anything  but  obedience  was  impossible, 
dropped  his  marking  and  followed  Ranald  out  of  the 
saloon. 

"Well,  Coley,  I  have  had  a  great  summer,"  began 
Ranald,  "and  I  wish  very  much  you  could  have  been 
with  me.  It  would  have  built  you  up  and  made  a 
man  of  you.  Just  feel  that,"  and  he  held  out  his 
arm,  which  Coley  felt  with  admiring  reverence. 
"That's  what  the  canoe  did,"  and  then  he  proceeded 
to  give  a  graphic  account  of  his  varied  adventures  by 
land  and  water  during  the  last  six  months.  As  they 
neared  Mr.  Raymond's  house,  Ranald  turned  to  Coley 
and  said:  "Now  I  want  you  to  cut  back  to  the  Insti- 
tute and  tell  Mr.  Locke,  if  he  is  there,  that  I  would 
like  him  to  call  around  at  my  office  to-morrow.  And 
furthermore,  Coley,  there's  no  need  of  your  going 
back  into  that  saloon.  I  was  a  little  ashamed  to  see 
one  of  my  friends  in  a  place  like  that.  Now,  good 
night,  and  be  a  man,  and  a  clean  man." 

Coley  stood  with  his  head  hung  in  abject  self-abase- 
ment, and  then  ventured  to  say,  "I  couldn't  stand 
them  ducks  nohow!" 

"Who  do  you  mean?"  said  Ranald. 

"Oh,  them  fellers  that  runs  the  Institute  now,  and 
so  I  cut." 

" Now  look  here,  Coley,"  said  Ranald,  "I  wouldn't 
go  throwing  stones  at  better  men  than  yourself,  and 
especially  at  men  who  are  trying  to  do  something  to 
help  other  people  and  are  not  so  beastly  mean  as  to 

369 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

think  only  of  their  own  pleasure.  I  didn't  expect 
that  of  you,  Coley.  Now  quit  it  and  start  again," 
and  Ranald  turned  away. 

Coley  stood  looking  after  him  for  a  few  moments 
in  silence,  and  then  said  to  himself,  in  a  voice  full  of 
emphasis:  "Well,  there's  just  one  of  his  kind  and 
there  ain't  any  other."  Then  he  set  out  at  a  run  for 
the  Institute. 

It  was  Kate  herself  who  came  to  answer  Ranald's 
ring. 

"I  knew  it  was  you,"  she  cried,  with  her  hand 
eagerly  outstretched  and  her  face  alight  with  joy. 
"Come  in,  we  are  all  waiting  for  you,  and  prepare  to 
be  surprised."  When  they  came  to  the  drawing- 
room  she  flung  open  the  door  and  with  great  cere- 
mony announced  "The  man  from  Glengarry,  as 
Harry  would  say." 

"Hello,  old  chap!"  cried  Harry,  springing  to  his 
feet,  but  Ranald  ignored  him.  He  greeted  Kate's 
mother  warmly  for  she  had  shown  him  a  mother's 
kindness  ever  since  he  had  come  to  the  city,  and  they 
were  great  friends,  and  then  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, who  was  standing  waiting  for  him,  and  gave  her 
both  his  hands. 

"I  knew  from  Kate's  letter,"  he  said,  "that  it 
would  be  you,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad  I  am." 
His  voice  grew  a  little  unsteady  and  he  could  say  no 
more.  Mrs.  Murray  stood  holding  his  hands  and 
looking  into  his  face. 

"It  cannot  be  possible,"  she  said,  "that  this  is 
Ranald  Macdonald!  How  changed  you  are!"  She 


I        WILL         REMEMBER 

pushed  him  a  little  back  from  her.  "Let  me  look  at 
you;  why,  I  must  say  it,  you  are  really  handsome!" 

"Now,  auntie,"  cried  Harry,  reprovingly,  "don't 
flatter  him.  He  is  utterly  ruined  now  by  every  one, 
including  both  Kate  and  her  mother." 

"But  really,  Harry,"  continued  Mrs.  Murray,  in  a 
voice  of  delighted  surprise,  "it  is  certainly  wonderful ; 
and  I  am  so  glad!  And  I  have  been  hearing  about 
your  work  with  the  boys  at  the  Institute,  and  I  can- 
not tell  you  the  joy  it  gave  me." 

"Oh,  it  is  not  much  that  I  have  done,"  said  Ran- 
ald, deprecatingly. 

"Indeed,  it  is  a  noble  work  and  worthy  of  any 
man,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  earnestly,  "and  I  thank 
God  for  you." 

"Then,"  said  Ranald,  firmly,  "I  owe  it  all  to  your- 
self, for  it  is  you  that  set  me  on  this  way." 

"Listen  to  them  admiring  each  other!  It  is  quite 
shameless,"  said  Harry. 

Then  they  began  talking  about  Glengarry,  of  the 
old  familiar  places,  of  the  woods  and  the  fields,  of  the 
boys  and  girls  now  growing  into  men  and  women,  and 
of  the  old  people,  some  of  whom  were  passed  away. 
Before  long  they  were  talking  of  the  church  and  all 
the  varied  interests  centering  in  it,  but  soon  they 
went  back  to  the  theme  that  Glengarry  people  every- 
where are  never  long  together  without  discussing — the 
great  revival.  Harry  had  heard  a  good  deal  about  it 
before,  but  to  Kate  and  her  mother  the  story  was 
mostly  new,  and  they  listened  with  eager  interest  as 
Mrs.  Murray  and  Ranald  recalled  those  great  days, 

371 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

With  eyes  shining,  and  in  tones  of  humble,  grateful 
wonder  they  reminded  each  other  of  the  various  inci- 
dents, the  terrors,  the  struggles,  the  joyful  surprises, 
the  mysterious  powers  with  which  they  were  so  familiar 
during  those  eighteen  months.  Then  Mrs.  Murray 
told  of  the  permanent  results ;  how  over  three  counties 
the  influence  of  the  movement  was  still  felt,  and  how 
whole  congregations  had  been  built  up  under  its  won- 
derful power. 

"And  did  you  hear,"  she  said  to  Ranald,  "that 
Donald  Stewart  was  ordained  last  May?" 

"No,"  replied  Ranald;  "that  makes  seven,  doesn't 
it?" 

"Seven  what?"  said  Kate. 

"Seven  men  preaching  the  Gospel  to-day  out  of 
our  own  congregation, ' '  replied  Mrs.  Murray. 

"But,  auntie,"  cried  Harry,  "I  have  always 
thought  that  all  that  must  have  been  awfully  hard 
work." 

"It  was,"  said  Ranald,  emphatically;  and  he  went 
on  to  sketch  Mrs.  Murray's  round  of  duties  in  her 
various  classes  and  meetings  connected  with  the  con- 
gregation. 

"Besides  what  she  has  to  do  in  the  manse!"  ex- 
claimed Harry;  "but  it's  a  mere  trifle,  of  course,  to 
look  after  her  troop  of  boys." 

"How  can  you  do  it?"  said  Kate,  gazing  at  her  in 
admiring  wonder. 

"It  isn't  so  terrible  as  Harry  thinks.  That's  my 
work,  you  see,"  said  Mrs.  Murray;  "what  else  would 
I  do?  And  when  it  goes  well  it  is  worth  while." 

373 


I        WILL        REMEMBER 

"But,  auntie,  don't  you  feel  sometimes  like  getting 
away  and  having  a  little  fun?  Own  up,  now." 

"Fun?"  laughed  Mrs.  Murray. 

"Well,  not  fun  exactly,  but  a  good  time  with 
things  you  enjoy  so  much,  music,  literature,  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  Do  you  remember,  Kate,  the  first  time 
you  met  auntie,  when  we  took  her  to  Hamlet?" 

Kate  nodded. 

"She  wasn't  quite  sure  about  it,  but  I  declare  till 
I  die  I  will  never  forget  the  wonder  and  the  delight  in 
her  face.  I  tell  you  I  wept  that  night,  but  not  at  the 
play.  And  how  she  criticised  the  actors ;  even  Booth 
himself  didn't  escape,"  continued  Harry;  "and  so  I 
say  it's  a  beastly  shame  that  you  should  spend  your 
whole  life  in  the  backwoods  there  and  have  so  little  of 
the  other  sort  of  thing.  Why  you  are  made  for  it!" 

"Harry,"  answered  Mrs.  Murray,  in  surprise,  "that 
was  my  work,  given  me  to  do.  Could  I  refuse  it?  And 
besides  after  all,  fun,  as  you  say,  passes;  music  stops; 
books  get  done  with;  but  those  other  things,  the 
things  that  Ranald  and  I  have  seen,  will  go  on  long 
after  my  poor  body  is  laid  away." 

"But  still  you  must  get  tired,"  persisted  Harry. 

"Yes,  I  get  tired,"  she  replied,  quietly.  At  the 
little  touch  of  weariness  in  the  voice,  Kate,  who  was 
looking  at  the  beautiful  face,  so  spiritual,  and  getting, 
oh,  so  frail,  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 
But  there  was  no  self-pity  in  that  heroic  soul.  "Yes, 
I  get  tired,"  she  repeated,  "but,  Harry,  what  does 
that  matter?  We  do  our  work  and  then  we  will  rest. 
But  oh,  Harry,  my  boy,  when  I  come  to  your  city  and 

373 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

see  all  there  is  to  do,  I  wish  I  were  a  girl  again,  and  I 
wonder  at  people  thinking  life  is  just  for  fun." 

Harry,  like  other  young  men,  hated  to  be  lec- 
tured, but  from  his  aunt  he  never  took  anything  amiss. 
He  admired  her  for  her  brilliant  qualities,  and  loved 
her  with  a  love  near  to  worship. 

"I  say,  auntie,"  he  said,  with  a  little  uncertain 
laugh,  "it's  like  going  to  church  to  hear  you,  only  it's 
a  deal  more  pleasant." 

"But,  Harry,  am  I  not  right?"  she  replied,  ear- 
nestly. "Do  you  think  that  you  will  get  the  best  out 
of  your  life  by  just  having  fun?  Oh,  do  you  know 
when  I  went  with  Kate  to  the  Institute  the  other  night 
and  saw  those  boys  my  heart  ached.  I  thought  of  my 
own  boys,  and — "  The  voice  ceased  in  a  pathetic 
little  catch,  the  sensitive  lips  trembled,  the  beautiful 
gray-brown  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears.  For  a  few 
moments  there  was  silence;  then,  with  a  wavering 
smile,  and  a  gentle,  apologetic  air,  she  said:  "But  I 
must  not  make  Harry  think  he  is  in  church. ' ' 

"Dear  Aunt  Murray,"  cried  Harry,  "do  lecture 
me.  I'd  enjoy  it,  and  you  can't  make  it  too  strong. 
You  are  just  an  angel."  He  left  his  seat,  and  going 
over  to  her  chair,  knelt  down  and  put  his  arms  about 
her. 

"Don't  you  all  wish  she  was  your  aunt?"  he  said, 
kissing  her. 

"She  is  mine,"  cried  Kate,  smiling  at  her  through 
shining  tears. 

"She's  more,"  said  Ranald,  and  his  voice  was 
husky  with  emotion. 

374 


I        WILL        REMEMBER 

But  with  the  bright,  joyous  little  laugh  Ranald 
knew  so  well,  she  smoothed  back  Harry's  hair,  and 
kissing  him  on  the  forehead,  said:  "I  am  sure  you 
will  do  good  work  some  day.  But  I  shall  be  quite 
spoiled  here;  I  must  really  get  home." 

As  Ranald  left  the  Raymond  house  he  knew  well 
what  he  should  say  to  Mr.  St.  Clair  next  morning. 
He  wondered  at  himself  that  he  had  ever  been  in 
doubt.  He  had  been  for  an  hour  in  another  world 
where  the  atmosphere  was  pure  and  the  light  clear. 
Never  till  that  night  had  he  realized  the  full  value  of 
that  life  of  patient  self-sacrifice,  so  unconscious  of  its 
heroism.  He  understood  then,  as  never  before,  the 
mysterious  influence  of  that  gentle,  sweet-faced  lady 
over  every  one  who  came  to  know  her,  from  the  simple, 
uncultured  girls  of  the  Indian  Lands  to  the  young 
men  about  town  of  Harry's  type.  Hers  was  the 
power  of  one  who  sees  with  open  eyes  the  unseen,  and 
who  loves  to  the  forgetting  of  self  those  for  whom  the 
Infinite  love  poured  Itself  out  in  death. 

"Going  home,  Harry?"  inquired  Ranald. 

"Yes,  right  home;  don't  want  to  go  anywhere  else 
to-night.  I  say,  old  chap,  you're  a  better  and  cleaner 
man  than  I  am,  but  it  ain't  your  fault.  That  woman 
ought  to  make  a  saint  out  of  any  man." 

"Man,  you  would  say  so  if  you  knew  her,"  said 
Ranald,  with  a  touch  of  impatience;  "but  then  no  one 
does  know  her.  They  certainly  don't  down  in  the 
Indian  Lands,  for  they  don't  know  what  she's  given 
up." 

"That's  the  beauty  of  it,"  replied  Harry;  "she 
375 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

doesn't  feel  it  that  way.     Given  up?  not  she!     She 
thinks  she's  got  everything  that's  good!" 

"Well,"  said  Ranald,  thoughtfully,  after  a  pause, 
"she  knows,  and  she's  right." 

When  they  came  to  Harry's  door  Ranald  lingered 
just  a  moment.  "Come  in  a  minute,"  said  Harry. 

"I  don't  know;  I'm  coming  in  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  come  along  just  now.  Aunt  Frank  is  in 
bed,  but  Maimie  will  be  up,"  said  Harry,  dragging 
him  along  to  the  door. 

"No,  I  think  not  to-night."  While  they  were 
talking  the  door  opened  and  Maimie  appeared. 

' '  Ranald, ' '  she  cried,  in  an  eager  voice,  ' '  I  knew  you 
would  be  at  Kate's,  and  I  was  pretty  sure  you  would 
come  home  with  Harry.  Aren't  you  coming  in?" 

"Where's  Aunt  Frank?"  asked  Harry. 

"She's  upstairs,"  said  Maimie. 

"Thank  the  Lord,  eh?"  added  Harry,  pushing  in 
past  her. 

"Go  away  in  and  talk  to  her,"  said  Maimie. 

Then  turning  to  Ranald  and  looking  into  his  de- 
vouring eyes,  she  said,  "Well?  You  might  say  you're 
glad  to  see  me."  She  stood  where  the  full  light  of 
the  doorway  revealed  the  perfect  beauty  of  her  face 
and  figure. 

"Glad  to  see  you!  There  is  no  need  of  saying 
that,"  replied  Ranald,  still  gazing  at  her. 

"How  beautiful  you  are,  Maimie,"  he  added, 
bluntly. 

"Thank  you,  and  you  are  really  quite  passable." 

"And  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 
376 


I        WILL         REMEMBER 

"That's  why  you  won't  come  in." 

"I  am  coming  to-morrow  night." 

"Everybody  will  be  here  to-morrow  night." 

"Yes,  that's  certainly  a  drawback." 

"And  I  shall  be  very  busy  looking  after  my  guests. 
Still,"  she  added,  noticing  the  disappointment  in  his 
face,  "it's  quite  possible — " 

"Exactly,"  his  face  lighting  up  again. 

"Have  you  seen  father's  study?"  asked  Maimie, 
innocently. 

"No,"  replied  Ranald,  wonderingly.  "Is  it  so 
beautiful?" 

"No,  but  it's  upstairs,  and — quiet." 

"Well?"  said  Ranald. 

"And  perhaps  you  might  like  to  see  it  to-morrow 
night." 

"How  stupid  I  am.     Will  you  show  it  to  me?" 

"I  will  be  busy,  but  perhaps  Harry — " 

"Will  you?"  said  Ranald,  coming  close  to  her,  with 
the  old  imperative  in  his  voice. 

Maimie  drew  back  a  little. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  make  me  think  of?"  she 
asked,  lowering  her  voice. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  have  thought  of  it  every  night 
since." 

"You  were  very  rude,  I  remember." 

"You  didn't  think  so  then,"  said  Ranald,  boldly. 

' '  I  ought  to  have  been  very  angry, ' '  replied  Maimie, 
severely. 

"But  you  weren't,  you  know  you  weren't;  and  do 
you  remember  what  you  said?" 

377 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"What  I  said?  How  awful  of  you;  don't  you 
dare!  How  can  I  remember?" 

"Yes,  you  do  remember,  and  then  do  you  remem- 
ber what  /said?" 

"What  _?/<?#  said  indeed!     Such  assurance!" 

"I  have  kept  my  word,"  said  Ranald,  "and  I  am 
coming  to-morrow  night.  Oh,  Maimie,  it  has  been  a 
long,  long  time."  He  came  close  to  her  and  caught 
her  hand,  the  slumbering  fire  in  his  eyes  blazing  now 
in  flame. 

"Don't,  don't,  I'm  sure  there's  Aunt  Frank.  No, 
no,"  she  pleaded,  in  terror,  "not  to-night,  Ranald!" 

"Then  will  you  show  me  the  study  to-morrow 
night?" 

"Oh,  you  are  very  mean.     Let  me  go!" 

"Will  you?"  he  demanded,  still  holding  her  hand. 

"Yes,  yes,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 
My  hand  is  quite  sore.  There,  now,  good  night. 
No,  I  won't  shake  hands!  Well,  then,  if  you  must 
have  it,  good  night." 


378 


CHAPTER  XXII 

FORGET  THAT  I  LOVED  YOU 

"The  night  for  dreaming,  but  the  morn  for  seeing." 
And  so  Ranald  found  it;  for  with  the  cold,  calm  light 
of  the  morning,  he  found  himself  facing  his  battle  with 
small  sense  of  victory  in  his  blood.  He  knew  he  had 
to  deal  that  morning  with  the  crisis  of  his  life.  Upon 
the  issue  his  whole  future  would  turn,  but  his  heart 
without  haste  or  pause  preserved  its  even  beat.  The 
hour  of  indecision  had  passed.  He  saw  his  way  and 
he  meant  to  walk  it.  What  was  beyond  the  turn  was 
hid  from  his  eyes,  but  with  that  he  need  not  concern 
himself  now.  Meantime  he  would  clear  away  some 
of  this  accumulated  correspondence  lying  on  his  desk. 
In  the  midst  of  his  work  Harry  came  in  and  laid  a 
bundle  of  bills  before  him. 

"Here  you  are,  old  chap,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"That's  the  last  of  it." 

Ranald  counted  the  money. 

"You  are  sure  you  can  spare  all  this?  There  is  no 
hurry,  you  know." 

"No,"  said  Harry,  "I  can't  spare  it,  but  it's  safer 
with  you  than  with  me,  and  besides,  it's  yours.  And 
I  owe  you  more  than  money."  He  drew  a  deep 
breath  to  steady  himself,  and  then  went  on:  "And  I 
want  to  say,  Ranald,  that  I  have  bet  my  last  stake." 

Ranald  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
379 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Now  that's  the  best  thing  I've  heard  for  some 
time,"  he  said,  offering  Harry  his  hand;  "and  that's 
the  last  of  that  business." 

He  sat  down,  drew  in  his  chair,  and  turning  over 
his  papers  with  a  nervousness  that  he  rarely  showed, 
he  continued:  "And,  Harry,  I  want  you  to  do  some- 
thing for  me.  Before  you  go  home  this  afternoon, 
will  you  come  in  here?  I  may  want  to  send  a  note  to 
Maimie  by  you." 

"But — "  began  Harry. 

"Wait  a  moment.  I  want  to  prevent  all  possibil- 
ity of  mistake.  There  may  be  a  reply,  and  Harry, 
old  chap,  I'd  rather  not  answer  any  questions." 

Harry  gazed  at  him  a  moment  in  perplexity.  "All 
right,  Ranald,"  he  said,  quietly,  "you  can  trust  me. 
I  haven't  the  ghost  of  an  idea  what's  up,  but  I  know 
you're  square." 

"Thanks,  old  fellow,"  said  Ranald,  "I  will  never 
give  you  reason  to  change  your  opinion.  Now  get 
out;  I'm  awfully  busy." 

For  some  minutes  after  Harry  had  left  the  room 
Ranald  sat  gazing  before  him  into  space. 

"Poor  chap,  he's  got  his  fight,  too,  but  I  begin  to 
think  he'll  win,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  once  more 
returned  to  his  work.  He  had  hardly  begun  his  writ- 
ing when  the  inner  door  of  his  office  opened  and  Mr. 
St.  Clair  came  in.  His  welcome  was  kindly  and  cor- 
dial, and  Ranald's  heart,  which  had  been  under  strong 
discipline  all  morning,  leaped  up  in  warm  response. 

"You  had  a  pleasant  trip,  I  hope?"  inquired  Mr. 
St.  Clair. 

380 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

"Fine  most  of  the  way.  Through  May  and  June 
the  flies  were  bad,  but  not  so  bad  as  usual,  they  said, 
and  one  gets  used  to  them." 

"Good  sport?" 

' '  Never  saw  anything  like  it.  What  a  country  that 
is!"  cried  Ranald,  his  enthusiasm  carrying  him  away. 
"Fishing  of  all  kinds  and  superb.  In  those  little 
lonely  lakes  you  get  the  finest  black  and  white  bass, 
beauties  and  so  gamy.  In  the  bigger  waters,  maska- 
longe  and,  of  course,  any  amount  of  pike  and  pickerel. 
Then  we  were  always  running  up  against  deer,  moose 
and  red,  and  everywhere  we  got  the  scent  of  bear. 
Could  have  loaded  a  boat  with  furs  in  a  week." 

"We  must  go  up  some  day,"  replied  Mr.  St.  Clair. 
"Wish  I  could  get  away  this  fall,  but  the  fact  is  we 
are  in  shallow  water,  Ranald,  and  we  can't  take  any 
chances." 

Ranald  knew  well  how  serious  the  situation  was. 
"But,"  continued  Mr.  St.  Clair,  "this  offer  of  the 
British- American  Lumber  and  Coal  Company  is  most 
fortunate,  and  will  be  the  saving  of  us.  With  one 
hundred  thousand  set  free  we  are  certain  to  pull 
through  this  season,  and  indeed,  the  financial  strin- 
gency will  rather  help  than  hinder  our  operations. 
Really  it  is  most  fortunate.  Indeed,"  he  added,  with 
a  slight  laugh,  "as  my  sister-in-law  would  say,  quite 
providential!" 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Ranald,  gravely; 
"but,  Mr.  St.  Clair—" 

"Yes,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair, 
hastening  to  recover  the  tone,  which  by  his  unfortunate 

381 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

reference  to  Mrs.  Murray,  he  had  lost.  The  thought 
of  her  was  not  in  perfect  harmony  with  purely  com- 
mercial considerations.  "The  fact  is,"  he  continued, 
"that  before  this  offer  came  I  was  really  beginning  to 
despair.  I  can  tell  you  that  now." 

Ranald  felt  his  heart  tighten. 

"One  does  not  mind  for  one's  self,  but  when  family 
interests  are  involved — but  that's  all  over  now,  thank 
God!" 

Ranald  tried  to  speak,  but  his  mind  refused  to 
suggest  words.  His  silence,  however,  was  enough 
for  Mr.  St.  Clair,  who,  with  nervous  haste  once  more 
changed  the  theme.  "In  my  note  to  you  last  night — 
you  got  it,  I  suppose — I  referred  to  some  changes  in 
the  firm." 

Ranald  felt  that  he  was  being  crowded  against  the 
ropes.  He  must  get  to  freer  fighting  ground.  "I 
think  before  you  go  on  to  that,  Mr.  St.  Clair,"  he 
began,  "I  ought  to — " 

"Excuse  me,  I  was  about  to  say,"  interrupted  Mr. 
St.  Clair,  hastily,  "Mr.  Raymond  and  I  have  felt  that 
we  must  strengthen  our  executive.  As  you  know,  he 
has  left  this  department  almost  entirely  to  me,  and  he 
now  realizes  what  I  have  long  felt,  that  the  burden 
has  grown  too  heavy  for  one  to  carry.  Naturally  we 
think  of  you,  and  I  may  say  we  are  more  than  glad, 
though  it  is  a  very  unusual  thing  in  the  business 
world,  that  we  can,  with  the  fullest  confidence,  offer 
you  a  partnership."  Mr.  St.  Clair  paused  to  allow 
the  full  weight  of  this  announcement  to  sink  into  his 
manager's  mind. 


FORGET     THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

Then  Ranald  pulled  himself  together.  He  must 
break  free  or  the  fight  would  be  lost  before  he  had 
struck  a  blow. 

"I  need  not  say,"  he  began  once  more,  "how 
greatly  gratified  I  am  by  this  offer,  and  I  feel  sure 
you  will  believe  that  I  am  deeply  grateful. ' '  Ran- 
ald's voice  was  low  and  even,  but  unknown  to  himself 
there  was  in  it  a  tone  of  stern  resolve  that  struck  Mr. 
St.  Glair's  ear.  He  knew  his  manager.  That  tone 
meant  war.  Hastily  he  changed  his  front. 

"Yes,  yes,  we  are  quite  sure  of  that,"  he  said, 
with  increasing  nervousness,  "but  we  are  thinking  of 
our  own  interests  as  well  as  yours.  Indeed,  I  feel 
sure" — here  his  voice  became  even  more  kindly  and 
confidential — "that  in  advancing  your  position  and 
prospects  we  are — I  am  only  doing  what  will  bring 
myself  the  greatest  satisfaction  in  the  end,  for  you 
know,  Ranald,  I — we  do  not  regard  you  as  a  stranger." 
Ranald  winced  and  grew  pale.  "We — my  family — 
have  always  felt  toward  you  as — well,  in  fact,  as  if 
you  were  one  of  us." 

Mr.  St.  Clair  had  delivered  his  last  and  deadliest 
blow  and  it  found  Ranald's  heart,  but  with  pain 
blanching  his  cheek  Ranald  stood  up  determined  to 
end  the  fight.  It  was  by  no  means  easy  for  him  to 
strike.  Before  him  he  saw  not  this  man  with  his 
ingenious  and  specious  pleading — it  would  not  have 
been  a  difficult  matter  to  have  brushed  him  aside — but 
he  was  looking  into  the  blue  eyes  of  the  woman  he 
had  for  seven  years  loved  more  than  he  loved  his  life, 
and  he  knew  that  when  his  blow  fell  it  would  fall  upon 

383 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

the  face  that,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  had  smiled  upon 
him,  and  upon  the  lips  that  had  whispered  to  him, 
"I  will  remember,  Ranald."  Yet  he  was  none  the 
less  resolved.  With  face  set  and  bloodless,  and  eyes 
of  gleaming  fire,  he  faced  the  man  that  represented 
what  was  at  once  dearest  in  life  and  what  was  most 
loathsome  in  conduct. 

"Give  me  a  moment,  Mr.  St.  Clair, "  he  said,  with 
a  note  of  authority  in  his  tone.  "You  have  made  me 
an  offer  of  a  position  such  as  I  could  hardly  hope  to 
expect  for  years  to  come,  but  I  value  it  chiefly  because 
it  means  you  have  absolute  confidence  in  me;  you 
believe  in  my  ability  and  in  my  integrity.  I  am 
determined  that  you  will  never  have  cause  to  change 
your  opinion  of  me.  You  are  about  to  complete  a 
deal  involving  a  very  large  sum  of  money.  I  have  a 
report  here,"  tapping  his  desk,  "which  you  have  not 
yet  seen." 

"It  really  doesn't  matter!"  interjected  Mr.  St. 
Clair;  "you  see,  my  dear  fellow — " 

"It  matters  to  me.  It  is  a  report  which  not  only 
you  ought  to  have,  but  which,  in  justice,  the  buyer 
of  the  Bass  River  Limits  ought  to  see.  That  re- 
port, Mr.  St.  Clair,  ought  to  be  given  to  Colonel 
Thorp." 

"This  is  sheer  folly,"  exclaimed  Mr.  St.  Clair, 
impatiently. 

"It  is  the  only  honorable  course." 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  sir?" 

"There  is  only  one  other  thing  I  would  rather 
not  do,"  said  Ranald,  in  a  grave  voice,  "and  that  is 

384 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

refuse  Colonel  Thorp  the  information  he  is  entitled 
to  from  us." 

"Sir!"  exclaimed  Mr.  St.  Clair,  "this  is  outra- 
geous, and  I  demand  an  apology  or  your  resignation!" 

"Colonel  Thorp,"  announced  a  clerk,  opening  the 
door. 

"Tell  Colonel  Thorp  I  cannot — ah,  Colonel  Thorp, 
I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Will  you  step  this  way?" 
opening  the  door  leading  to  his  own  office. 

The  colonel,  a  tall,  raw-boned,  typical  "Uncle 
Sam,"  even  to  the  chin  whisker  and  quid  of  tobacco, 
had  an  eye  like  an  eagle.  He  shot  a  keen  glance  at 
Mr.  St.  Clair  and  then  at  Ranald. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  helping  himself  to  a  chair,  "this 
here's  all  right.  This  is  your  manager,  eh?" 

"Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair,  introducing 
him. 

"How  do  you  do?  Heard  about  you  some,"  said 
the  colonel,  shaking  hands  with  him.  "Quite  a 
knocker,  I  believe.  Well,  you  rather  look  like  it. 
Used  to  do  some  myself.  Been  up  north,  so  the 
boss  says.  Good  country,  eh?" 

"Fine  sporting  country,  Colonel,"  interrupted  St. 
Clair.  "The  game,  Mr.  Macdonald  says,  come  right 
into  your  tent  and  beg  to  be  shot." 

"Do,  eh?"  The  colonel's  eagle  eye  lighted  up. 
"Now,  what  sort  of  game?" 

"Almost  every  kind,  Colonel,"  replied  Ranald. 

"Don't  say!  Used  to  do  a  little  myself.     Moose?" 

"Yes,  I  saw  a  number  of  moose  and  any  amount 
of  other  deer  and,  of  course,  plenty  of  bear." 

385 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Don't  say!  How'd  you  come  to  leave  them? 
Couldn't  have  done  it  myself,  by  the  great  Sam! 
Open  timber?" 

"Well,"  replied  Ranald,  slowly,  "on  the  east  of 
the  Bass  River—" 

"All  that  north  country,  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  St. 
Clair,  "is  pretty  much  the  same,  I  imagine;  a  little  of 
all  kinds." 

"Much  water,  streams,  and  such?" 

"Yes,  on  the  west  side  of  the  Bass  there  is  plenty 
of  water,  a  number  of  small  streams  and  lakes,  but — " 

"Oh,  all  through  that  north  country,  Colonel,  you 
are  safe  in  having  a  canoe  in  your  outfit,"  said  Mr. 
St.  Clair,  again  interrupting  Ranald. 

"Lots  of  water,  eh?  Just  like  Maine,  ha,  ha!" 
The  colonel's  quiet  chuckle  was  good  to  hear. 

"Reminds  me" — here  he  put  his  hand  into  his 
inside  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  flask,  "excuse  the 
glass,"  he  said,  offering  it  to  Mr.  St.  Clair,  who  took 
a  slight  sip  and  handed  it  back. 

"Have  a  little  refreshment,"  said  the  colonel, 
offering  it  to  Ranald. 

"I  never  take  it,  thank  you." 

"Don't?  Say,  by  the  great  Sam,  how'd  you  get 
through  all  that  wet  country?  Wall,  it  will  not  hurt 
you  to  leave  it  alone,"  solemnly  winking  at  St.  Clair, 
and  taking  a  long  pull  himself.  "Good  for  the 
breath,"  he  continued,  putting  the  flask  in  his  pocket. 
"Now,  about  those  limits  of  mine,  the  boss  here  has 
been  telling  you  about  our  deal?" 

"A  little,"  said  Ranald. 
386 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

"We've  hardly  had  time  to  look  into  anything 
yet,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair;  "but  if  you  will  step  into  my 
office,  Colonel,  I  have  the  papers  and  maps  there." 
Mr.  St.  Clair's  tone  was  anxious.  Once  more  the 
colonel  shot  a  glance  at  him. 

"You  have  been  on  the  spot,  I  judge,"  he  said  to 
Ranald,  rising  and  following  Mr.  St.  Clair. 

"Yes,  over  it  all." 

"Wall,  come  along,  you're  the  map  we  want,  eh? 
Maps  are  chiefly  for  purposes  of  deception,  I  have 
found,  ha,  ha!  and  there  ain't  none  of  'em  right," 
and  he  held  the  door  for  Ranald  to  enter. 

Mr.  St.  Clair  was  evidently  annoyed.  Unfolding 
a  map  he  laid  it  out  on  the  table.  "This  is  the  place, 
I  believe,"  he  said,  putting  his  finger  down  upon  the 
map. 

"Ain't  surveyed,  I  judge,"  said  the  colonel  to 
Ranald. 

"No,  only  in  part;  the  old  Salter  lines  are  there, 
but  I  had  to  go  away  beyond  these." 

"Warn't  'fraid  of  gettin'  lost,  eh?  Ha,  ha!  Wall 
show  us  your  route." 

Ranald  put  his  finger  on  the  map,  and  said:  "I 
struck  the  Bass  River  about  here,  and  using  that  as  a 
base,  first  explored  the  whole  west  side,  for,  I  should 
say,  about  ten  miles  back  from  the  river. ' ' 

"Don't  say!     How'd  you  grub?     Game  mostly?" 

"Well,  we  carried  some  pork  and  Hudson  Bay  hard 
tack  and  tea,  and  of  course,  we  could  get  all  the  fish 
and  game  we  wanted." 

"Lotsof  game,  eh?  Small  and  big?"  Thecolonel 
387 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

was  evidently  much  interested  in  this  part  of  Ranald's 
story.     "By  the  great  Sam,  must  go  up  there!" 

"It  would  do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world, 
Colonel,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair,  heartily.  "You  must 
really  go  up  with  your  men  and  help  them  lay  out  the 
ground,  you  know." 

"That's  so!  Now  if  you  were  lumbering  in  there, 
how'd  you  get  the  timber  out?" 

"Down  the  Bass  River  to  Lake  Nipissing, "  said 
Ranald,  pointing  out  the  route. 

"Yes,  but  how'd  you  get  it  to  the  Bass?  These 
limits,  I  understand,  lie  on  both  sides  of  the  Bass, 
don't  they?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  Bass  cuts  through  it  the  short  way?" 

"Yes." 

"Wall,  does  that  mean  six  or  eight  or  ten  miles  of 
a  haul?" 

"On  the  west  side,"  replied  Ranald,  "no.  There 
are  a  number  of  small  streams  and  lakes  which  you 
could  utilize." 

"And  on  the  east  side?" 

"You  see,  Colonel,"  broke  in  Mr.  St.  Clair,  "that 
whole  country  is  one  net-work  of  water-ways.  Notice 
the  map  here ;  and  there  are  always  a  number  of  lakes 
not  marked." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  said  Ranald,  "as  a  rule;  but 
on  the  east  side — " 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair,  hastily,  "you 
will  find  great  differences  in  different  parts  of  the 
country." 

388 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

Mr.  St.  Clair  folded  up  the  map  and  threw  it  on 
the  table. 

"Let's  see,"  said  the  colonel,  taking  up  the  map 
again.  "Now  how  about  the  camps,  Mr.  Macdonald, 
where  do  you  locate  them?" 

"I  have  a  rough  draught  here  in  which  the  bases 
for  camps  are  indicated,"  said  Ranald,  ignoring  the 
imploring  and  angry  looks  of  his  chief. 

"Let's  have  a  look  at  'em,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Oh,  you  haven't  shown  me  this,"  said  Mr.  St. 
Clair,  taking  the  draught  from  Ranald. 

"No,  sir,  you  have  not  seen  my  final  report." 

"No,  not  yet,  of  course.  We  have  hardly  had 
time  yet,  Colonel,  but  Mr.  Macdonald  will  make  a 
copy  of  this  for  you  and  send  it  in  a  day  or  two," 
replied  Mr.  St.  Clair,  folding  up  the  sketch,  nervously, 
and  placing  it  on  his  desk.  The  colonel  quietly  picked 
up  the  sketch  and  opened  it  out. 

"You  have  got  that  last  report  of  yours,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said,  with  a  swift  glance  at  Mr.  St.  Clair. 
That  gentleman's  face  was  pallid  and  damp ;  his  whole 
fortune  hung  on  Ranald's  reply.  It  was  to  him  a 
moment  of  agony. 

Ranald  glanced  at  his  face,  and  paused.  Then 
drawing  his  lips  a  little  tighter,  he  said:  "Colonel 
Thorp,  my  final  report  has  not  yet  been  handed  in. 
Mr.  St.  Clair  has  not  seen  it.  In  my  judgment — " 
here  Mr.  St.  Clair  leaned  his  hand  hard  upon  his 
desk — "you  are  getting  full  value  for  your  money, 
but  I  would  suggest  that  you  go  yourself  or  send  your 


389 


THE     MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

inspector  to  explore  the  limits  carefully  before  you 
complete  the  deal." 

Colonel  Thorp,  who  had  been  carefully  scanning 
the  sketch  in  his  hand,  suddenly  turned  and  looked 
Ranald  steadily  in  the  eye.  "These  marks  on  the 
west  side  mean  camps?" 

"Yes." 

"There  are  very  few  on  the  east  side?" 

"There  are  very  few;  the  east  side  is  inferior  to 
the  west." 

"Much?" 

"Yes,  much  inferior." 

' '  But  in  your  opinion  the  limit  is  worth  the  figure  ?' ' 

"I  would  undertake  to  make  money  out  of  it;  it  is 
good  value." 

The  colonel  chewed  hard  for  a  minute,  then  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  St.  Clair,  he  said:  "Wall,  Mr.  St.  Clair, 
I'll  give  you  one  hundred  thousand  for  your  limit; 
but  by  the  great  Sam,  I'd  give  twice  the  sum  for  your 
manager,  if  he's  for  sale!  He's  a  man!"  The  em- 
phasis on  the  he  was  ever  so  slight,  but  it  was  enough. 
Mr.  St.  Clair  bowed,  and  sinking  down  into  his  chair, 
busied  himself  with  his  papers. 

"Wall,"  said  the  colonel,  "that's  settled;  and  that 
reminds  me,"  he  added,  pulling  out  his  flask,  "good 
luck  to  the  Bass  River  Limits!" 

He  handed  the  flask  to  Mr.  St.  Clair,  who  eagerly 
seized  it  and  took  a  long  drink. 

"Goes  good  sometimes,"  said  the  colonel,  inno- 
cently. "Wall,  here's  lookin'  at  you,"  he  continued, 
bowing  toward  Ranald;  "and  by  the  great  Sam,  you 

39<> 


FORGET      THAT    I     LOVED     YOU 

suit  me  well !  If  you  ever  feel  like  a  change  of  air, 
indicate  the  same  to  Colonel  Thorp." 

"Ah,  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair,  who  had  re- 
covered his  easy,  pleasant  manner,  "we  can  sell  limits 
but  not  men." 

"No,  by  the  great  Sammy,"  replied  the  colonel, 
using  the  more  emphatic  form  of  his  oath,  "ner  buy 
'em!  Wall,"  he  added,  "when  you  have  the  papers 
ready,  let  me  know.  Good  day!" 

"Very  good,  Colonel,  good  by,  good  by!" 

The  colonel  did  not  notice  Mr.  St.  Clair's  offered 
hand,  but  nodding  to  Ranald,  sauntered  out  of  the 
office,  leaving  the  two  men  alone.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments Mr.  St.  Clair  turned  over  his  papers  in  silence. 
His  face  was  flushed  and  smiling. 

"Well,  that  is  a  most  happy  deliverance,  Ranald," 
he  said,  rubbing  his  hands.  "But  what  is  the  mat- 
ter? You  are  not  well." 

White  to  the  lips,  Ranald  stood  looking  at  his 
chief  with  a  resolved  face. 

"Mr.  St.  Clair,  I  wish  to  offer  you  my  resignation 
as  manager." 

"Nonsense,  Ranald,  we  will  say  no  more  about 
that.  I  was  a  little  hasty.  I  hope  the  change  I 
spoke  of  will  go  into  immediate  effect." 

' '  I  must  beg  to  decline. ' '  The  words  came  slowly, 
sternly  from  Ranald's  white  lips. 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"I  have  little  doubt  you  can  discover  the  reason, 
Mr.  St.  Clair.  A  few  moments  ago,  for  honorable 

39i 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

dealing,  you  would  have  dismissed  me.  It  is  impos- 
sible that  I  should  remain  in  your  employ." 

"Mr.  Macdonald,  are  you  serious  in  this?  Do  you 
know  what  you  are  doing?  Do  you  know  what  you 
are  saying?' '  Mr.  St.  Clair  rose  and  faced  his  manager. 

"Only  too  well,"  said  Ranald,  with  lips  that  began 
to  quiver,  "and  all  the  more  because  of  what  I  must 
say  further.  Mr.  St.  Clair,  I  love  your  daughter.  I 
have  loved  her  for  seven  years.  It  is  my  one  desire 
in  life  to  gain  her  for  my  wife." 

Mr.  St.  Clair  gazed  at  him  in  utter  astonishment. 

"And  in  the  same  breath,"  he  said  at  length,  "you 
insult  me  and  ask  my  permission." 

"It  is  vain  to  ask  your  permission,  I  fear,  but  it  is 
right  that  you  should  know  my  desire  and  my  purpose." 

"Your  purpose?" 

"My  unalterable  purpose." 

"You  take  my  daughter  out  of  my  house  in — in 
spite  of  my  teeth?"  Mr.  St.  Clair  could  hardly  find 
words. 

"She  will  come  with  me,"  said  Ranald,  a  little 
proudly. 

"And  may  I  ask  how  you  know?  Have  you 
spoken  to  my  daughter?" 

"I  have  not  spoken  to  her  openly."  The  blood 
rose  in  his  dark  face.  "But  I  believe  she  loves  me." 

"Well,  Mr.  Macdonald,  your  confidence  is  only 
paralleled  by  your  prodigious  insolence." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Ranald,  lowering  his  head  from 
its  proud  pose.  "I  have  no  desire  to  be  insolent." 

Once  more  Mr.  St.  Clair  looked  at  him  in  silence. 
392 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

Then  slowly  and  with  quiet  emphasis,  he  said:  "Mr. 
Macdonald,  you  are  a  determined  man,  but  as  God 
lives,  this  purpose  of  yours  you  will  never  carry  out. 
I  know  my  daughter,  I  think,  better  than  you  know 
her,  and  I  tell  you,"  here  a  slight  smile  of  confidence 
played  for  a  moment  on  his  face,  "she  will  never  be 
your  wife." 

Ranald  bowed  his  head. 

"It  shall  be  as  she  wills,"  he  said,  in  a  grave, 
almost  sad,  voice.  "She  shall  decide,"  and  he  passed 
into  his  office. 

All  day  long  Ranald  toiled  at  his  desk,  leaving 
himself  no  time  for  thought.  In  the  late  afternoon 
Harry  came  in  on  his  way  home. 

"Thanks,  old  chap,"  said  Ranald,  looking  up  from 
his  work;  "sha'n't  be  able  to  come  to-night,  I  am  sorry 
to  say." 

"Not  come?"  cried  Harry. 

"No,  it  is  impossible." 

"What  rot,  and  Maimie  has  waited  ten  days  for 
you.  Come  along!" 

"It  is  quite  impossible,  Harry,"  said  Ranald,  "and 
I  want  you  to  take  this  note  to  Maimie.  The  note 
will  explain  to  her." 

"But,  Ranald,  this  is—" 

"And,  Harry,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  this  is  my 
last  day  here." 

Harry  gazed  at  him  speechless. 

"Mr.  St.  Clair  and  I  have  had  a  difference  that  can 
never  be  made  right,  and  to-night  I  leave  the  office 
for  good." 

393 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Leave  the  office  for  good?  Going  to  leave  us? 
What  the  deuce  can  the  office  do  without  you?  And 
what  does  it  all  mean?  Come,  Ranald,  don't  be  such 
a  confounded  sphynx!  Why  do  you  talk  such  rub- 
bish?" 

"It  is  true,"  said  Ranald,  "though  I  can  hardly 
realize  it  myself ;  it  is  absolutely  and  finally  settled ; 
and  I  say,  old  man,  don't  make  it  harder  for  me. 
You  don't  know  what  it  means  to  me  to  leave  this 
place,  and — you,  and — all!"  In  spite  of  his  splendid 
nerve  Ranald's  voice  shook  a  little.  Harry  gazed  at 
him  in  amazement. 

"I  will  give  your  note  to  Maimie,"  he  said,  "but 
you  will  be  back  here  if  I  know  myself.  I'll  see  father 
about  this." 

"Now,  Harry,"  said  Ranald,  rising  and  putting 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "you  are  not  going  to  mix 
up  in  this  at  all;  and  for  my  sake,  old  chap,  don't 
make  any  row  at  home.  Promise  me, ' '  said  Ranald 
again  holding  him  fast. 

"Well,  I  promise,"  said  Harry,  reluctantly,  "but 
I'll  be  hanged  if  I  understand  it  at  all;  and  I  tell 
you  this,  that  if  you  don't  come  back  here,  neither 
shall  I." 

"Now  you  are  talking  rot,  Harry,"  said  Ranald, 
and  sat  down  again  to  his  desk.  Harry  went  out  in 
a  state  of  dazed  astonishment.  Alone  Ranald  sat  in 
his  office  writing  steadily  except  that  now  and  then 
he  paused  to  let  a  smile  flutter  across  his  stern,  set 
face,  as  a  gleam  of  sunshine  over  a  rugged  rock  on  a 
cloudy  day.  He  was  listening  to  his  heart,  whose 

394 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

every  beat  kept  singing  the  refrain,  "I  love  her,  I  love 
her;  she  will  come  to  me!" 

At  that  very  moment  Maimie  was  showing  her 
Aunt  Murray  her  London  dresses  and  finery,  and 
recounting  her  triumphs  in  that  land  of  social  glory. 

"How  lovely,  how  wonderfully  lovely  they  are," 
said  Mrs.  Murray,  touching  the  beautiful  fabrics  with 
fond  fingers;  "and  I  am  sure  they  will  suit  you  well, 
my  dear.  Have  you  worn  most  of  them?" 

"No,  not  all.  This  one  I  wore  the  evening  I  went 
with  the  Lord  Archers  to  the  Heathcote's  ball.  Lord 
Heathcote,  you  know,  is  an  uncle  of  Captain  De 
Lacy." 

"Was  Captain  De  Lacy  there?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Murray. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Maimie,  "and  we  had  a 
lovely  time!" — either  the  memory  of  that  evening 
brought  the  warm  blushes  to  her  face,  or  it  may  be 
the  thought  of  what  she  was  about  to  tell  her  aunt ; 
"and  Captain  De  Lacy  is  coming  to-morrow." 

"Coming  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,  he  has  written  to  Aunt  Frank,  and  to  papa 
as  well." 

Mrs.  Murray  sat  silent,  apparently  not  knowing 
what  to  say,  and  Maimie  stood  with  the  dress  in  her 
hands  waiting  for  her  aunt  to  speak.  At  length  Mrs. 
Murray  said:  "You  knew  Captain  De  Lacy  before,  I 
think." 

"Oh,  I  have  known  him  for  a  long  time,  and  he's 
just  splendid,  auntie,  and  he's  coming  to — "  Maimie 
paused,  but  her  face  told  her  secret. 

395 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Do  you  mean  he  is  going  to  speak  to  your  father 
about  you,  Maimie?"  Maimie  nodded.  "And  are 
you  glad?" 

"He's  very  handsome,  auntie,  and  very  nice,  and 
he's  awfully  well  connected,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
when  Lord  Heathcote  dies  he  has  a  good  chance  of 
the  estates  and  the  title." 

"Do  you  love  him,  Maimie?"  asked  her  aunt, 
quietly. 

Maimie  dropped  the  dress,  and  sitting  down  upon 
a  low  stool,  turned  her  face  from  her  aunt,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,  auntie,"  she  said.  "He's  very 
nice  and  gentlemanly  and  I  like  to  be  with  him — " 

"But,  Maimie,  dear,  are  you  not  sure  that  you 
love  him?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Maimie,  petulantly. 
"Are  you  not  pleased,  auntie?" 

"Well,  I  confess  I  am  surprised.  I  do  not  know 
Captain  De  Lacy,  and  besides  I  thought  it  was — I 
thought  you — "  Mrs.  Murray  paused,  while  Maimie's 
face  grew  hot  with  fiery  blushes,  but  before  she  could 
reply  they  heard  Harry's  step  on  the  stairs,  and  in  a 
moment  he  burst  into  the  room. 

"Ranald  isn't  coming!"  he  exclaimed.  "Here's 
a  note  for  you,  Maimie.  But  what  the — but  what  he 
means,"  said  Harry,  checking  himself,  "I  can't  make 
out." 

"Not  coming?"  cried  Maimie,  the  flush  fading 
from  her  face.  "What  can  he  mean?"  She  opened 
the  note,  and  as  she  read  the  blood  rushed  quickly 

396 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

into  her  face  again,  and  as  quickly  fled,  leaving  her 
pale  and  trembling. 

"Well,  what  does  he  say?"  inquired  Harry, 
bluntly. 

"He  says  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  come  to- 
night," said  Maimie,  putting  the  note  into  her  bosom. 

"Huh!"  grunted  Harry,  and  flung  out  of  the 
room. 

Immediately  Maimie  pulled  out  the  note. 

"Oh,  auntie,"  she  cried,  "I  am  so  miserable;  Ran- 
ald is  not  coming  and  he  says — there  read  it."  She 
hurriedly  thrust  the  note  into  Mrs.  Murray's  hands, 
and  Mrs.  Murray,  opening  it,  read: 

MY  DEAR  MAIMIE:  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  go  to  you  to- 
night. Your  father  and  I  have  had  a  difference  so  serious  that  I 
can  never  enter  his  house  again,  but  I  am  writing  now  to  tell  you 
what  I  meant  to  tell  you  to-night.  I  love  you,  Maimie.  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  I  have  loved  you  since  the  night 
I  pulled  you  from  the  fire. 

"Maimie,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  handing  her  back 
the  note,  "I  do  not  think  you  ought  to  give  me  this. 
That  is  too  sacred  for  any  eyes  but  your  own." 

"Oh,  I  know,  auntie,  but  what  can  I  do?  I  am  so 
sorry  for  Ranald!  What  shall  I  do,  auntie?" 

"My  dear  child,  in  this  neither  I  nor  any  one  can 
advise  you.  You  must  be  true  to  yourself." 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do!"  cried  Maimie. 
"He  wants  me  to  tell  him — "  Maimie  paused,  her 
face  once  more  covered  with  blushes,  "and  I  do  not 
know  what  to  say!" 

"What  does  your  heart  say,  Maimie?"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  quietly. 

397 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Oh,  auntie,  I  am  so  miserable!" 

"But,  Maimie,"  continued  her  aunt,  "in  this  mat- 
ter, as  I  said  before,  you  must  be  true  to  yourself. 
Do  you  love  Ranald?" 

"Oh,  auntie,  I  cannot  tell,"  cried  Maimie,  putting 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

"If  Ranald  were  De  Lacy  would  you  love  him?" 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  how  happy  I  would  be!" 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  rose.  "Maimie,  dear,"  she 
said,  and  her  voice  was  very  gentle  but  very  firm,  "let 
me  speak  to  you  for  your  dear  mother's  sake.  Do 
not  deceive  yourself.  Do  not  give  your  life  for  any- 
thing but  love.  Ranald  is  a  noble  man  and  he  will  be 
a  great  man  some  day,  and  I  love  him  as  my  own  son, 
but  I  would  not  have  you  give  yourself  to  him  unless 
you  truly  loved  him."  She  did  not  mention  De 
Lacy's  name  nor  utter  a  word  in  comparison  of  the 
two,  but  listening  to  her  voice,  Maimie  knew  only  too 
well  whither  her  love  had  gone. 

"Oh,  auntie,"  she  cried,  "I  cannot  bear  it!" 

"Yes,  Maimie  dear,  you  can  bear  to  do  the  right,  for 
there  is  One  in  whose  strength  we  can  do  all  things." 

Before  Maimie  could  reply  her  Aunt  Frances  came 
in. 

"It  is  dinner-time,"  she  announced,  "and  your 
father  has  just  come  in,  Maimie,  and  we  must  have 
dinner  over  at  once." 

Maimie  rose,  and  going  to  the  glass,  smoothed 
back  her  hair.  Her  Aunt  Frances  glanced  at  her  face 
and  then  at  Mrs.  Murray,  and  as  if  fearing  Maimie's 
reply,  went  on  hurriedly,  "You  must  look  your  very 

398 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

best  to-night,  and  even  better  to-morrow,"  she  said, 
smiling,  significantly.  She  came  and  put  her  hands 
on  Maimie's  shoulders,  and  kissing  her,  said:  "Have 
you  told  your  Aunt  Murray  who  is  coming  to-mor- 
row? I  am  sure  I'm  very  thankful,  my  dear,  you  will 
be  very  happy.  It  is  an  excellent  match.  Half  the 
girls  in  town  will  be  wild  with  envy.  He  has  written 
a  very  manly  letter  to  your  father,  and  I  am  sure  he 
is  a  noble  fellow,  and  he  has  excellent  prospects.  But 
we  must  hurry  down  to  dinner,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Mrs.  Murray,  who  with  a  look  of  sadness  on  her  pale 
face,  left  the  room  without  a  word. 

"Ranald  is  not  coming,"  said  Maimie,  when  her 
Aunt  Murray  had  gone. 

"Indeed,  from  what  your  father  says,"  cried  Aunt 
Frank,  indignantly,  "I  do  not  very  well  see  how  he 
could.  He  has  been  most  impertinent." 

"You  are  not  to  say  that,  Aunt  Frank,"  cried 
Maimie.  "Ranald  could  not  be  impertinent,  and  I 
will  not  hear  it."  Her  tone  was  so  haughty  and 
fierce  that  Aunt  Frank  thought  it  wiser  to  pursue  this 
subject  no  further. 

"Well,"  she  said,  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
"I'm  very  glad  he  has  the  grace  to  keep  away  to- 
night. He  has  always  struck  me  as  a  young  man  of 
some  presumption." 

When  the  door  closed  upon  her  Maimie  tore  the 
note  from  her  bosom  and  pressed  it  again  and  again  to 
her  lips:  "Oh,  Ranald,  Ranald,"  she  cried,  "I  love 
you!  I  love  you!  Oh,  why  can  it  not  be?  Oh,  I 
cannot — I  cannot  give  him  up!"  She  threw  herself 

399 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

upon  her  knees  and  laid  her  face  in  the  bed.  In  a 
few  minutes  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  her 
Aunt  Frances's  voice  was  heard,  "Maimie,  your 
father  has  gone  down;  we  must  not  delay."  The 
tone  was  incisive  and  matter-of-fact.  It  said  to 
Maimie,  "Now  let's  have  no  nonsense.  Be  a  sensible 
woman  of  the  world."  Maimie  rose  from  her  knees. 
Hastily  removing  all  traces  of  tears  from  her  face,  and 
glancing  in  the  glass,  she  touched  the  little  ringlets  ii:to 
place  and  went  down  to  dinner. 

It  was  a  depressing  meal.  Mr.  St.  Clair  was  irri- 
table; Harry  perplexed  and  sullen;  Maimie  nervously 
talkative.  Mrs.  Murray  was  heroically  holding  her- 
self in  command,  but  the  look  of  pain  in  her  eyes  and 
the  pathetic  tremor  on  her  lips  belied  the  brave  smiles 
and  cheerful  words  with  which  she  seconded  Aunt 
Frank. 

After  dinner  the  company  separated,  for  there  were 
still  preparations  to  make  for  the  evening.  As  Mrs. 
Murray  was  going  to  her  room,  she  met  Harry  in  the 
hall  with  his  hat  on. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Harry?" 

"Anywhere,"  he  growled,  fiercely,  "to  get  out  of 
this  damnable  hypocrisy!  Pardon  me,  Aunt  Murray, 
I  can't  help  it,  it  is  damnable,  and  a  whole  lot  of  them 
are  in  it!" 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  came,  and  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  said:  "Don't  go,  Harry;  don't  leave  me;  I 
want  some  one;  come  upstairs." 

Harry  stood  looking  at  the  sweet  face,  trying  to 
smile  so  bravely  in  spite  of  the  tremulous  lips. 

400 


FORGET      THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

"You  are  a  dear,  brave  little  woman,"  he  said, 
hanging  up  his  hat,  "and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  stay 
by  you.  Come  along  upstairs. "  He  stooped,  and  lift- 
ing her  in  his  arms  in  spite  of  her  laughing  protests,  car- 
ried her  upstairs  to  her  room.  When  they  came  down 
to  the  party  they  both  looked  braver  and  stronger. 

The  party  was  a  great  success.  The  ap- 
pointments were  perfect;  the  music  the  best  that 
could  be  had,  and  Maimie  more  beautiful  than  ever. 
In  some  mysterious  way,  known  only  to  Aunt  Frank, 
the  rumor  of  Maimie's  approaching  engagement  got 
about  among  the  guests  and  created  an  undertone 
of  excitement  to  the  evening's  gayety.  Maimie  was 
too  excited  to  be  quite  natural,  but  she  had  never 
appeared  more  brilliant  and  happy,  and  surely  she  had 
every  cause.  She  had  achieved  a  dizzy  summit  of 
social  success  that  made  her  at  once  the  subject  of  her 
friends'  congratulations  and  her  rivals'  secret  envy, 
and  which  was  the  more  delightful  it  would  be  hard 
to  say.  Truly,  she  was  a  fortunate  girl,  but  still  the 
night  was  long,  and  she  was  tired  of  it  all  before  it  was 
over.  The  room  seemed  empty,  and  often  her  heart 
gave  a  leap  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  some  form  that 
appeared  more  handsome  and  striking  than  others 
near,  but  only  to  sink  again  in  disappointment  when 
a  second  glance  told  her  that  it  was  only  some  ordi- 
nary man.  Kate,  too,  kept  aloof  in  a  very  unpleasant 
way,  and  Harry,  devoting  himself  to  Kate,  had  not 
done  his  duty.  But  in  spite  of  everything  the  party 
had  been  a  great  success,  and  when  it  was  over  Maimie 
went  straight  to  bed  to  sleep.  She  knew  that  Ranald 

4oi 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

would  be  awaiting  the  answer  to  his  note,  but  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  face  what  she  knew  would 
be  an  ordeal  that  might  murder  sleep  for  her,  and 
sleep  she  must  have,  for  she  must  be  her  best  to-mor- 
row. It  would  have  been  better  for  all  involved  had 
she  written  her  answer  that  night ;  otherwise  Ranald 
would  not  have  been  standing  at  her  door  in  the  early 
afternoon  asking  to  see  her.  It  was  Aunt  Frances 
who  came  down  to  the  drawing-room.  As  Ranald 
stood  up  and  bowed,  she  adjusted  her  pince-nez  upon 
her  aristocratic  nose,  and  viewed  him. 

"You  are  wishing  to  see  Miss  St.  Clair, "  she  said, 
in  her  very  chilliest  tone. 

"I  asked  to  see  Maimie,"  said  Ranald,  looking  at 
her  with  cool,  steady  eyes. 

"I  must  say,  Mr.  Macdonald,  that  after  your  con- 
duct to  my  brother  yesterday,  I  am  surprised  you 
should  have  the  assurance  to  enter  his  house." 

"I  would  prefer  not  discussing  office  matters  with 
you,"  said  Ranald,  politely,  and  with  a  suspicion  of  a 
smile.  "I  have  come  to  see  Maimie." 

"That,  I  am  glad  to  say,  is  impossible,  for  she  is 
at  present  out  with  Captain  De  Lacy  who  has  just 
arrived  from  the  East  to — see — to — in  short,  on  a  very 
special  errand." 

For  a  moment  Ranald  stood  without  reply. 

"She  is  out,  you  say?"  he  answered  at  length. 

"She  is  out  with  Captain  De  Lacy."  He  caught 
the  touch  of  triumph  in  her  voice. 

"Will  she  be  back  soon?"  inquired  Ranald,  look- 
ing baffled. 

402 


FORGET     THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

"Of  course  one  cannot  tell  in  such  a  case,"  an- 
swered Miss  St.  Clair,  "but  I  should  think  not." 
Miss  St.  Clair  was  enjoying  herself.  It  did  her  good 
to  see  this  insolent,  square-jawed  young  man  standing 
helpless  before  her. 

"It  is  important  that  I  should  see  her,"  said  Ran- 
ald, after  a  few  moments'  thought.  "I  shall  wait." 
Had  Miss  St.  Clair  known  him  better  she  would  have 
noticed  with  some  concern  the  slow  fires  kindling  in 
his  eyes.  As  it  was  she  became  indignant. 

"That,  Mr.  Macdonald,  you  shall  not;  and  allow 
me  to  say  frankly  that  your  boldness— your  inso- 
lence— I  may  say,  is  beyond  all  bounds." 

"Insolence,  and  when?"     Ranald  was  very  quiet. 

"You  come  to  the  house  of  your  employer,  whom 
you  have  insulted,  and  demand  to  see  his  daughter." 

"I  have  a  right  to  see  her." 

"Right?     What  right  have  you,  pray?" 

Then  Ranald  stood  up  and  looked  Miss  St.  Clair 
full  in  the  face  with  eyes  fairly  alight. 

"Miss  St.  Clair,  have  you  ever  known  what  it  is  to 
love  with  all  your  soul  and  heart?"  Miss  St.  Clair 
gasped.  "Because  if  not,  you  will  not  understand 
me;  if  you  have  you  will  know  why  I  must  see 
Maimie.  It  is  seven  years  now  since  I  began  to  love 
her.  I  remember  the  spot  in  the  woods;  I  see  the 
big  tree  there  behind  her  and  the  rising  ground  stretch- 
ing away  to  the  right.  I  see  the  place  where  I  pulled 
her  out  of  the  fire.  Every  morning  since  that  time  I 
have  waked  with  the  thought  of  her;  every  night  my 
eyes  have  closed  with  a  vision  of  her  before  me. 

403 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

It  is  for  her  I  have  lived  and  worked.  I  tell  you 
she  is  mine!  I  love  her!  I  love  her,  and  she  loves 
me.  I  know  it."  His  words  came  low,  fierce,  and 
swift. 

Miss  St.  Clair  stood  breathless.  What  a  man  he 
looked  and  how  handsome  he  was! 

With  but  a  moment's  pause  Ranald  went  on,  but  his 
voice  took  a  gentler  tone.  "Miss  St.  Clair,  do  you 
understand  me?  Yes,  I  know  you  do."  The  blood 
came  flowing  suddenly  to  her  thin  cheeks.  "You  say 
she  is  out  with  Captain  De  Lacy,  and  you  mean  me 
to  think  that  she  is  to  give  herself  to  him.  He  loves 
her,  I  know,  but  I  say  she  is  mine!  Her  eyes  have 
told  me  that.  She  is  mine,  I  tell  you,  and  no  man 
living  will  take  her  from  me."  The  fire  that  always 
slumbered  in  his  eyes  was  now  blazing  in  full  fury. 
The  great  passion  of  his  life  was  raging  through  his 
soul,  vibrating  in  his  voice,  and  glowing  in  his  dark 
face.  Miss  St.  Clair  sat  silent,  and  then  motioned 
him  to  a  seat. 

"Mr.  Macdonald,"  she  said,  with  grave  courtesy, 
"you  are  too  late,  I  fear.  I  did  not  realize — Maimie 
will  never  be  yours.  I  know  my  niece."  At  the  sad 
earnestness  of  her  voice,  Ranald's  face  began  to  grow 
pale. 

"I  will  wait  for  her,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"I  beg  you  will  not." 

"I  will  wait,"  he  repeated,  with  lips  tight  pressed. 

"It  is  vain,  Mr.  Macdonald,  I  assure  you.  Spare 
yourself  and  her.  I  know  what — I  could  have — " 
Her  voice  grew  husky. 

404 


FORGET     THAT     I     LOVED     YOU 

"I  will  wait,"  once  more  replied  Ranald,  the  lines 
of  his  face  growing  tense. 

Miss  St.  Clair  rose  and  gave  him  her  hand.  "I 
will  send  a  friend  to  you,  and  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me, ' ' 
Ranald  bowed  gravely,  "and  to  forgive  me,"  and  she 
left  the  room.  Ranald  heard  her  pass  through  the 
hall  and  up  the  stairs  and  then  a  door  closed  behind 
her.  Before  he  had  time  to  gather  his  thoughts 
together  he  heard  a  voice  outside  that  made  his  heart 
stand  still.  Then  the  front  door  opened  quickly  and 
Maimie  and  De  Lacy  stood  in  the  hall.  She  was 
gayly  talking.  Ranald  rose  and  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  door.  Before  him  was  a  large  mirror  which 
reflected  the  hall  through  the  open  door.  He  stood 
waiting  for  them  to  enter. 

"Hang  up  your  hat,  Captain  De  Lacy,  then  go  in 
and  find  a  chair  while  I  run  upstairs,"  cried  Maimie, 
gayly.  "You  must  learn  your  way  about  here 
now." 

"No,"  said  De  Lacy,  in  alow,  distinct  voice.  "I 
can  wait  no  longer,  Maimie." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  as  if  in  fear. 

"Come,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hands  to  her. 
"There  was  no  chance  in  the  park,  and  I  can  wait  no 
longer."  Slowly  she  came  near.  "My  darling,  my 
sweetheart,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  full  of  intense 
passion.  Then,  while  she  lay  in  his  arms,  he  kissed 
her  on  the  lips  twice.  Ranald  stood  gazing  in  the 
mirror  as  if  fascinated.  As  their  lips  met  a  low  groan 
burst  from  him.  He  faced  about,  and  with  a  single 
step,  stood  in  the  doorway.  Shriek  after  shriek 

405 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

echoed  through  the  house  as  Maimie  sprang  from  De 
Lacy's  arms  and  shrank  back  to  the  wall. 

"Great  heavens,"  cried  De  Lacy,  "why  it's  Mac- 
donald !  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  coming  in  on 
people  like  that?" 

"What  is  it,  Maimie,"  cried  her  Aunt  Frank, 
hurrying  down  stairs. 

Then  she  saw  Ranald  standing  in  the  doorway, 
with  face  bloodless,  ghastly,  livid.  Quickly  she  went 
up  to  him,  and  said,  in  a  voice  trembling  and  not 
ungentle:  "Oh,  why  did  you  wait,  Mr.  Macdonald; 
go  away  now,  go  away." 

Ranald  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  a  curious 
uncomprehending  gaze,  and  then  said,  "Yes,  I 
will  go  away."  He  took  a  step  toward  Maimie,  his 
eyes  like  lurid  flames.  She  shrank  from  him,  while 
De  Lacy  stepped  in  his  path.  With  a  sweep  of  his 
arm  he  brushed  De  Lacy  aside,  hurling  him  crashing 
against  the  wall,  and  stood  before  the  shrinking  girl. 

"Good  by,  Maimie;  forget  that  I  loved  you  once." 

The  words  came  slowly  from  his  pallid  lips.  For 
some  moments  he  stood  with  his  burning  eyes  fastened 
upon  her  face.  Then  he  turned  slowly  from  her  and 
groped  blindly  for  his  hat.  Miss  St.  Clair  hurried 
toward  him,  found  his  hat,  and  putting  it  in  his  hand, 
said,  in  a  broken  voice,  while  tears  poured  down  her 
cheeks:  "Here  it  is;  good  by,  good  by." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  as  if  in  surprise,  and 
then,  with  a  smile  of  rare  sweetness  on  his  white  lips, 
he  said,  "I  thank  you,"  and  passed  out,  going  feebly 
like  a  man  who  has  got  a  death  wound. 

406 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

A  GOOD  TRUE  FRIEND 

It  was  springtime  and  the  parks  and  avenues 
were  in  all  the  dainty  splendor  of  their  new  leaves. 
The  afternoon  May  sun  was  flooding  the  city  with 
gold  and  silver  light,  and  all  the  air  was  tremulous  with 
the  singing  of  birds.  A  good  day  it  was  to  live  if  one 
could  only  live  in  the  sunny  air  within  sight  of  the 
green  leaves  and  within  sound  of  the  singing  birds. 
A  day  for  life  and  love  it  was;  at  least  so  Kate 
thought  as  she  drew  up  her  prancing  team  at  the  St. 
Clair  house  where  Harry  stood  waiting  for  her. 

"Dear  Kate,"  he  cried,  "how  stunning  you  are! 
I  love  you!" 

"Come,  Harry,  jump  up!  Breton  is  getting 
excited." 

"Stony-hearted  wretch,"  grumbled  Harry.  "Did 
you  hear  me  tell  you  I  love  you?" 

"Nonsense,  Harry,  jump  in;  I'll  report  to  Lily 
Langford." 

"Don't  tell,"  pleaded  Harry,  "and  do  keep  Breton 
on  all  fours.  This  isn't  a  circus.  You  terrify  me." 

"We  have  only  time  to  make  the  train,  hurry  up!" 
cried  Kate.  "Steady,  my  boys." 

"Some  day,  Kate,  those  'boys'  of  yours  will  be 
your  death  or  the  death  of  some  of  your  friends,"  said 
Harry,  as  he  sprang  in  and  took  his  place  beside  Kate. 

407 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"That  Breton  ought  to  be  shot.      It  really  affects  my 
heart  to  drive  with  you." 

"You  haven't  any,  Harry,  you  know  that  right 
well,  so  don't  be  alarmed." 

"Quite  true,"  said  Harry,  sentimentally,  "not  since 
that  night,  don't  you  remember,  Kate,  when  you — '' 

"Now,  Harry,  I  only  remind  you  that  I  always 
tell  my  girl  friends  everything  you  say.  It  is  this 
wedding  that's  got  into  your  blood." 

"I  suppose  so,"  murmured  Harry,  pensively; 
"wish  it  would  get  into  yours.  Now  seriously,  Kate, 
at  your  years  you  ought — " 

"Harry,"  said  Kate,  indignantly,  "I  really  don't 
need  you  at  the  station.  I  can  meet  your  aunt  quite 
well  without  you.  Shall  I  set  you  down  here,  or 
drive  you  to  the  office?" 

"Oh,  not  to  the  office,  I  entreat!  I  entreat! 
Anything  but  that!  Surely  I  may  be  allowed  this 
day!  I  shall  be  careful  of  your  sensitive  points,  but  I 
do  hope  this  wedding  of  Maimie's  will  give  you  seri- 
ous thoughts." 

Kate  was  silent,  giving  her  attention  doubtless  to 
her  team.  Then,  with  seeming  irrelevance,  she  said : 
"Didn't  I  see  Colonel  Thorp  yesterday  in  town?" 

"Yes,  the  old  heathen!  I  haven't  forgiven  hin? 
for  taking  off  Ranald  as  he  did." 

"He  didn't  take  off  Ranald.  Ranald  was  going 
off  anyway." 

"How  do  you  know?"  said  Harry. 

"I  know,"  replied  Kate,  with  a  little  color  in  her 
cheek.  "He  told  me  himself. ' ' 

408 


A       GOOD      TRUE       FRIEND 

"Well,  old  Thorp  was  mighty  glad  to  get  him;  I 
can  tell  you  that.  The  old  sinner!" 

"He's  just  a  dear!"  cried  Kate.  "Yes,  he  was 
glad  to  get  Ranald.  What  a  splendid  position  he 
gave  him." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know,  he  adores  you  like  all  the  rest, 
and  so  you  think  him  a  dear." 

But  this  Kate  ignored  for  the  team  were  speeding 
along  at  an  alarming  pace.  With  amazing  skill  and 
dash  she  threaded  her  way  through  the  crowded 
streets  with  almost  no  checking  of  her  speed. 

"Do  be  careful,"  cried  Harry,  as  the  wheels  of 
their  carriage  skimmed  the  noses  of  the  car-horses. 
"I  am  quite  sure  my  aunt  will  not  be  able  to  recog- 
nize me." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  I  shall  be  gray-haired  by  the  time  I  reach 
the  station." 

"There's  the  train  I  do  believe,"  cried  Kate,  flour- 
ishing her  whip  over  her  horses'  backs.  "We  must 
not  be  late. ' ' 

"If  we  ever  get  there  alive,"  said  Harry. 

"Here  we  are  sure  enough." 

"Shall  I  go  to  the  train?" 

"No,  indeed,"  cried  Kate.  "Do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  allow  any  one  to  meet  my  Aunt  Murray  but 
myself?  I  shall  go;  you  hold  the  horses." 

"I  am  afraid,  really,"  cried  Harry,  pretending 
terror. 

"Oh,  I  fancy  you  will  do,"  cried  Kate,  smiling 
sweetly,  as  she  ran  off  to  meet  the  incoming  train. 

409 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned  with  Mrs.  Murray  and 
carrying  a  large,  black  valise. 

"Hello,  auntie  dear,"  cried  Harry.  "You  see  I 
can't  leave  these  brutes  of  Kate's,  but  believe  me  it 
does  me  good  to  see  you.  What  a  blessing  a  wedding 
is  to  bring  you  to  us.  I  suppose  you  won't  corne 
again  until  it  is  Kate's  or  mine." 

"That  would  be  sure  to  bring  me,"  cried  Mrs. 
Murray,  smiling  her  bright  smile,  "provided  you 
married  the  right  persons." 

"Why,  auntie,"  said  Harry,  dismally,  "Kate  is  so 
unreasonable.  She  won't  take  even  me.  You  see 
she's  so  tremendously  impressed  with  herself,  and  all 
the  fellows  spoil  her." 

By  this  time  Kate  had  the  reins  and  Harry  had 
climbed  into  the  back  seat. 

"Dear  old  auntie,"  he  said,  kissing  his  aunt,  "I  am 
really  delighted  to  see  you.  But  to  return  to  Kate. 
Look  at  her!  Doesn't  she  look  like  a  Roman  princess?" 

"Now,  Harry,  do  be  sensible,  or  I  shall  certainly 
drive  you  at  once  to  the  office,"  said  Kate,  severely. 

"Oh,  the  heartlessness  of  her.  She  knows  well 
enough  that  Colonel  Thorp  is  there,  and  she  would 
shamelessly  exult  over  his  abject  devotion.  She 
respects  neither  innocent  youth  nor  gray  hairs,  as 
witness  myself  and  Colonel  Thorp. ' ' 

"Isn't  he  a  silly  boy,  auntie?"  said  Kate,  "and  he 
is  not  much  improving  with  age." 

"But  what's  this  about  Colonel  Thorp?"  said  Mrs. 
Murray.  "Sometimes  Ranald  writes  of  him,  in  high 
terms,  too." 

410 


A       GOOD       TRUE       FRIEND 

"Well,  you  ought  to  hear  Thorp  abuse  Ranald. 
Says  he's  ruining  the  company  with  his  various 
philanthropic  schemes,"  said  Harry,  "but  you  can 
never  tell  what  he  means  exactly.  He's  a  wily  old 
customer." 

"Don't  believe  him,  auntie,"  said  Kate,  with  a 
sagacious  smile.  "Colonel  Thorp  thinks  that  the 
whole  future  of  his  company  and  of  the  Province 
depends  solely  upon  Ranald.  It  is  quite  ridiculous 
to  hear  him,  while  all  the  time  he  is  abusing  him  for 
his  freaks." 

"It  must  be  a  great  country  out  there,  though," 
said  Harry,  "and  what  a  row  they  are  making  over 
Confederation." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Harry?"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 
"We  hear  so  little  in  the  country." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  exactly,  but  those  fellows  in 
British  Columbia  are  making  all  sorts  of  threats  that 
unless  this  railway  is  built  forthwith  they  will  back 
out  of  the  Dominion,  and  some  of  them  talk  of  annex- 
ation with  the  United  States.  Don't  I  wish  I  was 
there !  What  a  lucky  fellow  Ranald  is.  Thorp  says 
he's  a  big  gun  already.  No  end  of  a  swell.  Of 
course,  as  manager  of  a  big  concern  like  the  British- 
American  Coal  and  Lumber  Company,  he  is  a  man  of 
some  importance." 

"I  don't  think  he  is  taking  much  to  do  with  public 
questions,"  said  Kate,  "though  he  did  make  a  speech 
at  New  Westminster  not  long  ago.  He  has  been  up 
in  those  terrible  woods  almost  ever  since  he  went." 

"Hello,  how  do  you  know?"  said  Harry,  looking 
411 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

at  her  suspiciously;  "I  get  a  fragment  of  a  note  from 
Ranald  now  and  then,  but  he  is  altogether  too  busy 
to  remember  humble  people." 

"I  hear  regularly  from  Coley.  You  remember 
Coley,  don't  you?"  said  Kate,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Murray. 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  the  lad  in  whom  Ranald  was  so 
interested  in  the  Institute." 

"Yes,"  replied  Kate;  "Coley  begged  and  prayed 
to  go  with  Ranald,  and  so  he  went." 

"She  omits  to  state,"  said  Harry,  "that  she  also 
'begged  and  prayed'  and  further  that  she  outfitted  the 
young  rascal,  though  I've  reason  to  thank  Providence 
for  removing  him  to  another  sphere. ' ' 

"How  does  it  affect  you?"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 

"Why,  haven't  you  heard,  Aunt  Murray,  of  the 
tremendous  heights  to  which  I  have  attained?  I  sup- 
pose she  didn't  tell  you  of  her  dinner  party.  That 
was  after  you  had  left  last  fall.  It  was  a  great  bit  of 
generalship.  Some  of  Ranald's  foot-ball  friends, 
Little  Merrill,  Starry  Hamilton,  that's  the  captain,  you 
know,  and  myself  among  them,  were  asked  to  a  fare- 
well supper  by  this  young  lady,  and  when  the  men 
had  well  drunk — fed,  I  mean — and  were  properly  dis- 
solved in  tears  over  the  prospect  of  Ranald's  depart- 
ure, at  a  critical  moment  the  Institute  was  introduced 
as  a  side  issue.  It  was  dear  to  Ranald's  heart.  A 
most  effective  picture  was  drawn  of  the  Institute 
deserted  and  falling  into  ruins,  so  to  speak,  with 
Kate  heroically  struggling  to  prevent  utter  collapse. 
Could  this  be -allowed?  No!  a  thousand  times  no! 

412 


A      GOOD       TRUE       FRIEND 

Some  one  would  be  found  surely!  Who  would  it  be! 
At  this  juncture  Kate,  who  had  been  maintaining  a 
powerful  silence,  smiled  upon  Little  Merrill,  who 
being  distinctly  inflammable,  and  for  some  mysterious 
reason  devoted  to  Ranald,  and  for  an  even  more  mys- 
terious reason  devoted  to  Kate,  swore  he'd  follow  if 
some  one  would  lead.  What  could  I  do?  My  well- 
known  abilities  naturally  singled  me  out  for  leader- 
ship, so  to  prevent  any  such  calamity,  I  immediately 
proposed  that  if  Starry  Hamilton,  the  great  foot-ball 
chief,  would  command  this  enterprise  I  would  follow. 
Before  the  evening  was  over  the  Institute  was  thor- 
oughly manned." 

"It  is  nearly  half  true,  aunt,"  said  Kate. 

"And  by  our  united  efforts,"  continued  Harry, 
"the  Institute  has  survived  the  loss  of  Ranald." 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  overjoyed  I  am,  Harry, 
that  both  of  my  boys  are  taking  hold  of  such  good 
work,  you  here  and  Ranald  in  British  Columbia.  He 
must  have  a  very  hard  time  of  it,  but  he  speaks  very 
gratefully  of  Colonel  Thorp,  who,  he  says,  often 
opposes  but  finally  agrees  with  his  proposals." 

Harry  laughed  aloud.  "Agrees,  does  he?  And 
do  you  know  why?  I  remember  seeing  him  one  day, 
and  he  was  in  a  state  of  wild  fury  at  Ranald's  notions. 
I  won't  quote  his  exact  words.  The  next  day  I  found 
him  in  a  state  of  bland  approval.  Then  I  learn  inci- 
dentally that  in  the  meantime  Kate  has  been  giving 
him  tea  and  music." 

"Don't  listen  to  his  mean  insinuations,  auntie," 
said  Kate,  blushing  a  little. 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

Mrs.  Murray  turned  and  looked  curiously  into 
her  face  and  smiled,  and  then  Kate  blushed  all  the 
more. 

"I  think  that  may  explain  some  things  that  have 
been  mysterious  to  me/'  she  said. 

"Oh,  what,  auntie?"  cried  Harry;  "I  am  most 
anxious  to  know." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Murray  ;  "I  will  explain 
to  Kate." 

"That  won't  help  me  any.  She  is  a  most  secretive 
person,  twiddles  us  all  round  her  fingers  and  never 
lets  us  know  anything  until  it's  done.  It  is  most 
exasperating.  Oh,  I  say,  Kate,"  added  Harry,  sud- 
denly, "would  you  mind  dropping  me  at  the  florist's 
here?" 

"Why?  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Kate,  drawing  in  her 
team.  "How  do  you  do,  Lily?  Harry  is  anxious  to 
select  some  flowers, ' '  she  said,  bowing  to  a  very  pretty 
girl  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Kate,  do  stop  it,"  besought  Harry,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  leaped  out  of  the  carriage.  "Good  by, 
auntie,  I'll  see  you  this  evening.  Don't  believe  all 
Kate  tells  you,"  he  added,  as  they  drove  away. 

"Are  you  too  tired  for  a  turn  in  the  park,"  said 
Kate,  "or  shall  we  drive  home?" 

A  drive  is  always  pleasant.  Besides,  one  can  talk 
about  some  things  with  more  freedom  in  a  carriage 
than  face  to  face  in  one's  room.  The  horses  require 
attention  at  critical  moments,  and  there  are  always 
points  of  interest  when  it  is  important  that  conversa- 
tion should  be  deflected  from  the  subject  in  hand,  so 

414 


A       GOOD       TRUE        FRIEND 

since  Mrs.  Murray  was  willing,  Kate  turned  into  the 
park.  For  an  hour  they  drove  along  its  shady,  wind- 
ing roads  while  Mrs.  Murray  talked  of  many  things, 
but  mostly  of  Ranald,  and  of  the  tales  that  the  Glen- 
garry people  had  of  him.  For  wherever  there  was 
lumbering  to  be  done,  sooner  or  later  there  Glengarry 
men  were  to  be  found,  and  Ranald  had  found  them 
in  the  British  Columbia  forests.  And  to  their  people 
at  home  their  letters  spoke  of  Ranald  and  his  doings 
at  first  doubtfully,  soon  more  confidently,  but  always 
with  pride.  To  Macdonald  Bhain  a  rare  letter  came 
from  Ranald  now  and  then,  which  he  would  carry  to 
Mrs.  Murray  with  a  difficult  pretense  of  modesty. 
For  with  Macdonald  Bhain,  Ranald  was  a  great  man. 

"But  he  is  not  quite  sure  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray. "He  thinks  it  is  a  very  queer  way  of  lumbering, 
and  the  wages  he  considers  excessive." 

"Does  he  say  that?"  asked  Kate.  "That's  just 
what  Colonel  Thorp  says  his  company  are  saying. 
But  he  stands  up  for  Ranald  even  when  he  can't  see 
that  his  way  is  the  best.  The  colonel  is  not  very 
sure  about  Ranald's  schemes  for  the  men,  his  reading- 
room,  library,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  I'm  sure 
he  will  succeed."  But  Kate's  tone  belied  her  confi- 
dent words. 

Mrs.  Murray  noticed  the  anxiety  in  Kate's  voice. 
"At  least  we  are  sure,"  she  said,  gently,  "that  he  will 
do  right,  and  after  all  that  is  success." 

"I  know  that  right  well,"  replied  Kate;  "but  it  is 
hard  for  him  out  there  with  no  one  to  help  him  or  to 
encourage  him." 

4'5 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

Again  Mrs.  Murray  looked  at  Kate,  curiously. 

"It  must  be  a  terrible  place,"  Kate  went  on, 
"especially  for  one  like  Ranald,  for  he  has  no  mind  to 
let  things  go.  He  will  do  a  thing  as  it  ought  to  be 
done,  or  not  at  all."  Soon  after  this  Kate  gave  her 
mind  to  her  horses,  and  in  a  short  time  headed  them 
for  home. 

"What  a  delightful  drive  we  have  had,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  gratefully,  as  Kate  took  her  upstairs  to  her 
room. 

"I  hope  I  have  not  worried  you  with  my  dismal 
forebodings,  "she  said,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"No,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  drawing  her  face 
down  to  the  pillow  where  Kate  had  made  her  lay  her 
head.  "I  think  I  understand,"  she  added,  in  a 
whisper. 

Then  Kate  laid  her  face  beside  that  of  her  friend 
and  whispered,  "Oh,  auntie,  it  is  so  hard  for  him"; 
but  Mrs.  Murray  stroked  her  head  softly  and  said: 
"There  is  no  fear,  Kate;  all  will  be  well  with  him." 

Immediately  after  dinner  Kate  carried  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray with  her  to  her  own  room,  and  after  establishing 
her  in  all  possible  comfort,  she  began  to  read  extracts 
from  Coley's  letters. 

"Here  is  the  first,  auntie;  they  are  more  picturesque 
than  elegant,  but  if  you  knew  Coley,  you  wouldn't 
mind;  you'd  be  glad  to  get  any  letter  from  him."  So 
saying  Kate  turned  her  back  to  the  window,  a  position 
with  the  double  advantage  of  allowing  the  light  to  fall 
upon  the  paper  and  the  shadow  to  rest  upon  her  face, 
and  so  proceeded  to  read: 

416 


A       GOOD       TRUE        FRIEND 

DEAR  Miss  KATE:  We  got  here  —  ("That  is  to  New 
Westminster.")  last  night,  and  it  is  a  queer  town.  The  streets  run 
every  way,  the  houses  are  all  built  of  wood,  and  almost  none  of 
them  are  painted.  The  streets  are  full  of  all  sorts  of  people.  I 
saw  lots  of  Chinamen  and  Indians.  It  makes  a  feller  feel  kind  o' 
queer  as  if  he  was  in  some  foreign  country.  The  hotel  where  we 
stopped  was  a  pretty  good  lookin'  place.  Of  course  nothin'  like 
the  hotel  we  stopped  at  in  San  Francisco.  It  was  pretty  fine  inside, 
but  after  supper  when  the  crowd  began  to  come  in  to  the  bar  you 
never  saw  such  a  gang  in  your  life!  They  knew  how  to  sling  their 
money,  I  can  tell  you.  And  then  they  begun  to  yell  and  cut  up. 
I  tell  you  it  would  make  the  Ward  seem  like  a  Sunday  school.  The 
Boss,  that's  what  they  call  him  here,  I  guess  didn't  like  it  much, 
and  I  don't  think  you  would,  either.  Next  morning  we  went  to 
look  at  the  mills.  They  are  just  sheds  with  slab  roofs.  I  don't 
think  much  of  them  myself,  though  I  don't  know  much  about  mills. 
The  Boss  went  round  askin'  questions  and  I  don't  think  he  liked 
the  look  of  them  much  either.  I  know  he  kept  his  lips  shut  pretty 
tight  as  we  used  to  see  him  do  sometimes  in  the  Institute.  I  am 
awful  glad  he  brought  me  along.  He  says  I  have  got  to  write  to 
you  at  least  once  a  month,  and  I've  got  to  take  care  of  my  writin'  too 
and  get  the  spellin*  right.  When  I  think  of  the  fellers  back  in  the 
alleys  pitchin"  pennies  I  tell  you  I'd  ruther  die  than  go  back. 
Here  a  feller  feels  he's  alive.  I  wish  I'd  paid  more  attention  to 
my  writin'  in  the  night  school,  but  I  guess  I  was  pretty  much  of  a 
fool  them  days,  and  you  were  awful  good  to  me.  The  Boss  says 
that  a  man  must  always  pay  his  way,  and  when  I  told  him  I  wanted 
to  pay  for  them  clothes  you  gave  me  he  looked  kind  o'  funny,  but 
he  said  "  that's  right,"  so  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  they  cost  and 
I  will  pay  you  first  thing,  for  I'm  goin*  to  be  a  man  out  in  this 
country.  We're  goin'  up  the  river  next  week  and  see  the  gangs 
workin*  up  there  in  the  bush.  It's  kind  o'  lonesome  here  goin' 
along  the  street  and  lookin'  people  in  the  faces  to  see  if  you  can 
see  one  you  know.  Lots  of  times  I  thought  I  did  see  some  one  I 
knew  but  it  wasn't.  Good  by,  I'll  write  you  soon  again. 

Yours  truly, 

MICHAEL  COLE. 

"The  second  letter,"  Kate  went  on,  "is  written 
from  the  camp,  Twentymile  Camp,  he  calls  it.      He 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

tells  how  they  went  up  the  river  in  the  steamer,  taking 
with  them  some  new  hands  for  their  camp,  and  how 
these  men  came  on  board  half  drunk,  and  how  all  the 
way  up  to  Yale  they  were  drinking  and  fighting.  It 
must  have  been  horrible.  After  that  they  went  on 
smaller  boats  and  then  by  wagons.  On  the  roads  it 
must  have  been  terrible.  Coley  seems  much  impressed 
with  the  big  trees.  He  says : 

"These  big  trees  are  pretty  hard  to  write  about  without  sayin* 
words  the  Boss  don't  allow.  It  makes  you  think  of  bein'  in  St. 
Michaels,  it's  so  quiet  and  solemn-like,  and  I  never  felt  so  small  in 
all  my  life.  The  Boss  and  me  walked  the  last  part  of  the  way, 
and  got  to  camp  late  and  pretty  tired,  and  the  men  we  brought  in 
with  us  was  all  pretty  mad,  but  the  Boss  never  paid  no  attention 
to  'em  but  went  whistlin*  about  as  if  everything  was  lovely.  We 
had  some  pork  and  beans  for  supper,  then  went  to  sleep  in  a  bunk 
nailed  up  against  the  side  of  the  shanty.  It  was  as  hard  as  a 
board,  but  I  tell  you  it  felt  pretty  good.  Next  day  I  went  wander- 
in'  'round  with  the  foreman  and  the  Boss.  I  tell  you  I  was  afraid 
to  get  very  far  away  from  'em,  for  I  *d  be  sure  to  get  lost ;  the 
bush  is  that  thick  that  you  can't  see  your  own  length  ahead  of  you. 
That  night,  when  the  Boss  and  me  and  the  foreman  was  in  the 
shanty  they  call  the  office,  after  supper,  we  heard  a  most  awful 
row.  '  What's  that  ?  '  says  the  Boss.  '  O,  that's  nothin','  says  the 
foreman;  'the  boys  is  havin*  a  little  fun,  I  guess.'  He  didn't  say 
anything,  but  went  on  talkin',  but  in  a  little  while  the  row  got 
worse,  and  we  heard  poundin*  and  smashin'.  '  Do  you  allow  that 
sort  of  thing? 'says  the  Boss.  '  Well,"  he  says, 'Guess  the  boys 
got  some  whiskey  last  night.  I  generally  let  'em  alone.'  '  Well,' 
says  the  Boss,  quiet-like, '  I  think  you'd  better  go  in  and  stop  it.' 
'  Not  if  I  know  myself,'  says  the  foreman,  '  I  ain't  ordered  my 
funeral  yet.*  '  Well,  we'll  go  in  and  see,  anyway,'  says  the  Boss. 
I  tell  you  I  was  kind  o*  scared,  but  I  thought  I  might  as  well  go 
along.  When  we  got  into  the  sleepin'  shanty  there  was  a  couple 
of  fellers  with  hand-spikes  breakin'  up  the  benches  and  knockin' 
things  around  most  terrible.  '  Say,  boys,'  yelled  the  foreman,  and 
then  he  began  to  swear  most  awful.  They  didn't  seem  to  pay 

418 


A       GOOD       TRUE       FRIEND 

much  attention,  but  kept  on  knockin'  around  and  swearin'. 
'  Come,  now,'  says  the  foreman,  kind  o*  coaxin'  like,  '  this  ain't  no 
way  to  act.  Get  down  and  behave  yourselves.'  But  still  they 
didn't  pay  no  attention.  Then  the  Boss  walked  up  to  the  biggest 
one,  and  when  he  got  quite  close  to  'em  they  all  got  still  lookin" 
on.  '  I  '11  take  that  hand-spike,'  says  the  Boss.  '  Help  yourself,' 
says  the  man  swingin'  it  up.  I  don't  know  what  happened,  it  was 
done  so  quick,  but  before  you  could  count  three  that  feller  was  on 
his  knees  bleedin'  like  a  pig  and  the  hand-spike  was  out  of  the 
door,  and  the  Boss  walks  up  to  the  other  feller  and  says, '  Put  that 
hand-spike  outside.'  He  begun  to  swear.  '  Put  it  out,'  says  the 
Boss,  quiet-like,  and  the  feller  backs  up  and  throws  his  hand-spike 
out.  And  the  Boss  up  and  speaks  and  says, '  Look  here,  men,  I 
don't  want  to  interfere  with  nobody,  and  won't  while  he  behaves 
himself,  but  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  any  row  like  that  in  this  camp.' 
Say,  you  ought  to  have  seen  'em!  They  sat  like  the  gang  used  to 
in  the  night  school,  and  then  he  turned  and  walked  out  and  we  all 
follered  him.  I  guess  they  ain't  used  to  that  sort  of  thing  in  this 
camp.  I  heard  the  men  talkin"  next  day  pretty  big  of  what  they 
was  goin'  to  do,  but  I  don't  think  they'll  do  much.  They  don't 
look  that  kind.  Anyway,  if  there's  goin'  to  be  a  fight,  I'd  feel 
safer  with  the  Boss  than  with  the  whole  lot  of  "em." 

"The  letter  after  this,"  went  on  Kate,  "tells  of 
what  happened  the  Sunday  following. 

"  We'd  gone  out  in  the  afternoon,  Boss  and  me,  for  a  walk,  and 
when  we  got  back  the  camp  was  just  howlin'  drunk,  and  the 
foreman  was  worst  of  all.  They  kind  o'  quieted  down  for  a  little 
when  we  come  in  and  let  us  get  into  the  office,  but  pretty  soon 
they  began  actin*  up  funny  again  and  swearin'  most  awful.  Then 
I  see  the  Boss  shut  up  his  lips  hard,  and  I  says  to  myself  'Look  out 
for  blood.'  Then  he  starts  over  for  the  bunk  shanty.  I  was 
mighty  scared,  and  follered  him  close.  Just  as  we  shoved  open 
the  door  a  bottle  come  singin'  through  the  air  and  smashed  to  a 
thousand  bits  on  the  beam  above.  '  Is  that  the  kind  of  cowards 
you  are?'  says  the  Boss,  quite  cool.  He  didn't  speak  loud,  but  I 
tell  you  everybody  heard  him  and  got  dead  still.  '  No,  Boss,' 
says  one  feller, 'not  all.'  'The  man  that  threw  that  bottle,' says 
the  Boss, '  is  a  coward,  and  the  meanest  kind.  He's  afraid  to  step 

419 


THE      MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

out  here  for  five  minutes.'  Nobody  moved.  '  Step  up,  ye  baste,' 
says  an  Irishman,  'or  it's  mesilf  will  kick  ye  out  of  the  camp.' 
And  out  the  feller  comes.  It  was  the  same  duck  that  the  Boss 
scared  out  of  the  door  the  first  night.  '  Sthand  up  till  'im  Billie,' 
says  the  Irishman;  'we'll  see  fair  play.  Sthand  up  to  the  gintle- 
man.'  'Billie,'  says  the  Boss,  and  his  eyes  was  blazin'  like 
candles;  'yer  goin*  to  leave  this  camp  to-morrow  mornin'.  You 
can  take  your  choice;  will  you  get  onto  your  knees  now  or  later?' 
With  that  Billie  whipped  out  a  knife  and  rushes  at  him;  but  the 
Boss  grabs  his  wrist  and  gives  it  a  twist,  and  the  knife  fell  onto 
the  floor.  The  Boss  holds  him  like  a  baby,  and  picks  up  the  knife 
and  throws  it  into  the  fire.  'Now,'  says  he,  'get  onto  your  knees. 
Quick!'  And  the  feller  drops  on  his  knees,  and  bellered  like  a  calf. 
" '  Let 's  pray,'  says  some  one,  and  the  crowd  howls.  '  Give 
us  yer  hand,  Boss,'  says  the  Irishman.  'Yer  the  top  o*  this 
gang.'  The  Irishman  shoves  out  his  clipper,  and  the  Boss  takes 
it  in  an  easy  kind  of  a  way.  My  you  o't  to  seen  that  Irishman 
squirm.  '  Howly  Mither! '  he  yells,  and  dances  round,  '  what  do 
ye  think  yer  got? '  and  he  goes  off  lookin*  at  his  fingers,  and 
the  Boss  stands  lookin'  at  'em,  and  says,  'You'r  a  nice  lot 
of  fellers;  you  don't  deserve  it,  but  I  'm  goin'  to  treat  you  fair. 
I  know  you  feel  Sunday  pretty  slow,  and  I  '11  try  to  make  it 
better  for  you;  but  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  won't  have  any 
more  row  in  this  camp,  and  I  won't  have  any  man  here  that 
can't  behave  himself.  To-morrow  morning,  you,  pointin'  at  the 
foreman,  'and  you,  Billie,'  and  you,  pointin'  at  another  chap, 
leave  the  camp,  and  they  did  too,  though  they  begged  and  prayed 
to  let  'em  stay,  and  by  next  Sunday  we  had  a  lot  of  papers  and 
books,  with  pictures  in  'em,  and  a  bang-up  dinner,  and  every- 
thing went  nice.  I  am  likin*  it  fine.  I  'm  time-keeper,  and  look 
after  the  store;  but  I  drive  the  team  too  every  chance  I  get, 
and  I  'd  ruther  do  that  a  long  way.  But  many  a  night  I  tell 
you  when  the  Boss  and  me  is  alone  we  talk  about  you  and  the 
Institute  fellers,  and  the  Boss  —  " 

"Well,  that's  all,"  said  Kate,  "but  isn't  it  terri- 
ble?    Aren't  they  dreadful?" 

"Poor  fellows,"  said   Mrs.  Murray;  "it's  a  very 
hard  life  for  them." 

420 


A       GOOD       TRUE       FRIEND 

"But  isn't  it  awful,  auntie?  They  might  kill  him," 
said  Kate. 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  in  a  soothing 
voice,  "but  it  sounds  worse  to  us  perhaps  than  it  is." 

Mrs.  Murray  had  not  lived  in  the  Indian  Lands 
for  nothing. 

"Oh,  if  anything  should  happen  to  him?"  said 
Kate,  with  sudden  agitation. 

"We  must  just  trust  him  to  the  great  Keeper," 
said  Mrs.  Murray,  quietly,  "in  Whose  keeping  all  are 
safe  whether  there  or  here." 

Then  going  to  her  valise,  she  took  out  a  letter  and 
handed  it  to  Kate,  saying:  "That's  his  last  to  me. 
You  can  look  at  it,  Kate." 

Kate  took  the  letter  and  put  it  in  her  desk.  "I 
think,  perhaps,  we  had  better  go  down  now,"  she 
said;  "I  expect  Colonel  Thorp  has  come.  I  think 
you  will  like  him.  He  seems  a  little  rough,  but  he 
is  a  gentleman,  and  has  a  true  heart, ' '  and  they  went 
downstairs. 

It  is  the  mark  of  a  gentleman  to  know  his  kind. 
He  has  an  instinct  for  what  is  fine  and  offers  ready 
homage  to  what  is  worthy.  Any  one  observing 
Colonel  Thorp's  manner  of  receiving  Mrs.  Murray 
would  have  known  him  at  once  for  a  gentleman,  for 
when  that  little  lady  came  into  the  drawing-room, 
dressed  in  her  decent  silk  gown,  with  soft  white  lace 
at  her  throat,  bearing  herself  with  sweet  dignity,  and 
stepping  with  dainty  grace  on  her  toes,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  fine  ladies  of  the  old  school,  and  not  after 
the  flat-footed,  heel-first  modern  style,  the  colonel 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

abandoned  his  usual  careless  manner  and  rose  and 
stood  rigidly  at  attention. 

"Auntie,  this  is  my  friend,  Colonel  Thorp, "  said 
Kate. 

"Proud  to  know  you,  madam,"  said  the  colonel, 
with  his  finest  military  bow. 

"And  I  am  glad  to  meet  Colonel  Thorp;  I  have 
heard  so  much  of  him  through  my  friends,"  and  she 
smiled  at  him  with  such  genuine  kindliness  that  the 
gallant  colonel  lost  his  heart  at  once. 

"Your  friends  have  been  doing  me  proud,"  he 
said,  bowing  to  her  and  then  to  Kate. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  me,"  said  Kate;  "you 
don't  imagine  I  have  been  saying  nice  things  about 
you?  She  has  other  friends  that  think  much  of  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  "Ranald  has  often 
spoken  of  you,  Colonel  Thorp,  and  of  your  kind- 
ness," said  Mrs.  Murray. 

The  colonel  looked  doubtful.  "Well,  I  don't 
know  that  he  thinks  much  of  me.  I  have  had  to  be 
pretty  hard  on  him." 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Murray. 

"Well,  I  reckon  you  know  him  pretty  well,"  began 
the  colonel. 

"Well,  she  ought  to,"  said  Kate,  "she  brought 
him  up,  and  his  many  virtues  he  owes  mostly  to  my 
dear  aunt's  training." 

"Oh,  Kate,  you  must  not  say  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  gravely. 

"Then,"  said  the  colonel,  "you  ought  to  be  proud 
of  him.  You  produced  a  rare  article  in  the  commer- 

422 


A       GOOD       TRUE       FRIEND 

cial  world,  and  that  is  a  man  of  honor.  He  is  not  for 
sale,  and  I  want  to  say  that  I  feel  as  safe  about  the 
company's  money  out  there  as  if  I  was  settin'  on  it;  but 
he  needs  watching,"  added  the  colonel,  "he  needs 
watching." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  whose 
pale  face  had  flushed  with  pleasure  and  pride  at  the 
colonel's  praise  of  Ranald. 

"Too  much  philanthropy,"  said  the  colonel, 
bluntly;  "the  British- American  Coal  and  Lumber 
Company  ain't  a  benevolent  society  exactly." 

"I  am  glad  you  spoke  of  that,  Colonel  Thorp;  I 
want  to  ask  you  about  some  things  that  I  don't  under- 
stand. I  know  that  the  company  are  criticising  some 
of  Ranald's  methods,  but  don't  know  why  exactly." 

"Now,  Colonel,"  cried  Kate,  "stand  to  your 
guns." 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  am  going  to  execute 
a  masterly  retreat,  as  they  used  to  say  when  a  fellow 
ran  away.  I  am  going  to  get  behind  my  company. 
They  claim,  you  see,  that  Ranald  ain't  a  paying  con- 
cern." 

"But  how?"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 

Then  the  colonel  enumerated  the  features  of  Ran- 
ald's management  most  severely  criticised  by  the 
company.  He  paid  the  biggest  wages  going;  the 
cost  of  supplies  for  the  camps  was  greater,  and 
the  company's  stores  did  not  show  as  large  profits  as 
formerly;  "and  of  course,"  said  the  colonel,  "the  first 
aim  of  any  company  is  to  pay  dividends,  and  the 
manager  that  can't  do  that  has  to  go." 

423 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

Then  Mrs.  Murray  proceeded  to  deal  with  the 
company's  contentions,  going  at  once  with  swift  intu- 
ition to  the  heart  of  the  matter.  "You  were  speaking 
of  honor  a  moment  ago,  Colonel.  There  is  such  a 
thing  in  business?" 

"Certainly,  that's  why  I  put  that  young  man 
where  he  is." 

"That  means  that  the 'company  expect  him  to 
deal  fairly  by  them." 

"That's  about  it." 

"And  being  a  man  of  honor,  I  suppose  he  will  also 
deal  fairly  by  the  men  and  by  himself. ' ' 

"I  guess  so,"  said  the  colonel. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  understand  the  questions  fully, 
but  from  Ranald's  letters  I  have  gathered  that  he  did 
not  consider  that  justice  was  being  done  either  to  the 
men  or  to  the  company.  For  instance,  in  the  matter 
of  stores — I  may  be  wrong  in  this,  you  will  correct 
me,  Colonel — I  understand  it  was  the  custom  to  charge 
the  men  in  the  camps  for  the  articles  they  needed 
prices  three  or  four  times  what  was  fair." 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  guess  things  were 
a  little  high,  but  that's  the  way  every  company 
does." 

"And  then  I  understand  that  the  men  were  so 
poorly  housed  and  fed  and  so  poorly  paid  that  only 
those  of  the  inferior  class  could  be  secured." 

"Well,  I  guess  they  weren't  very  high-class,"  said 
the  colonel,  "that's  right  enough." 

"But,  Colonel,  if  you  secure  a  better  class  of  men, 
and  you  treat  them  in  a  fair  and  honorable  way  with 

424 


A       GOOD       TRUE        FRIEND 

some  regard  to  their  comfort  you  ought  to  get  better 
results  in  work,  shouldn't  you?" 

"Well,  that's  so,"  said  the  colonel;  "there  never 
was  such  an  amount  of  timber  got  out  with  the  same 
number  of  men  since  the  company  started  work,  but 
yet  the  thing  don't  pay,  and  that's  the  trouble.  The 
concern  must  pay  or  go  under." 

"Yes,  that's  quite  true,  Colonel,"  said  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray; "but  why  doesn't  your  concern  pay?" 

"Well,  you  see,  there's  no  market;  trade  is  dull 
and  we  can't  sell  to  advantage." 

"But  surely  that  is  not  your  manager's  fault," 
said  Mrs.  Murray,  "and  surely  it  would  be  an  unjust 
thing  to  hold  him  responsible  for  that." 

"But  the  company  don't  look  at  things  in  that 
light,"  said  the  colonel.  "You  see  they  figure  it  this 
way,  stores  ain't  bringing  in  the  returns  they  used  to, 
the  camps  cost  a  little  more,  wages  are  a  little  higher, 
there  ain't  nothing  coming  in,  and  they  say,  Well, 
that  chap  out  there  means  well  with  his  reading-rooms 
for  the  mill  hands,  his  library  in  the  camp,  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  but  he  ain't  sharp  enough!" 

"Sharp  enough!  that's  a  hard  word,  Colonel," 
said  Mrs.  Murray,  earnestly,  "and  it  may  be  a  cruel 
word,  but  if  Ranald  were  ever  so  sharp  he  really 
couldn't  remove  the  real  cause  of  the  trouble.  You 
say  he  has  produced  larger  results  than  ever  before, 
and  if  the  market  were  normal  there  would  be  larger 
returns.  Then,  it  seems  to  me,  Colonel,  that  if  Ran- 
ald suffers  he  is  suffering,  not  because  he  has  been 
unfaithful  or  incompetent,  but  because  the  market  is 

425 


THE     MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

bad,  and  that  I  am  certain  you  would  not  consider 
fair." 

"You  must  not  be  too  hard  on  us,"  said  the 
colonel.  "Sb  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  think  you  are 
right,  but  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  make  business  men  look 
at  these  things  in  anything  but  a  business  way." 

"But  it  should  not  be  hard,  Colonel,"  said  Mrs. 
Murray,  with  sad  earnestness,  "to  make  even  business 
men  see  that  when  honor  is  the  price  of  dividends  the 
cost  is  too  great,"  and  without  giving  the  colonel  an 
opportunity  of  replying,  she  went  on  with  eager  enthu- 
siasm to  show  how  the  laws  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
might  be  applied  to  the  great  problems  of  labor. 
"And  it  would  pay,  Colonel,"  she  cried,  "it  would 
pay  in  money,  but  far  more  it  would  pay  in  what  can- 
not be  bought  for  money — in  the  lives  and  souls  of 
men,  for  unjust  and  uncharitable^dealing  injures  more 
the  man  who  is  guilty  of  it  than  the  man  who  suffers 
from  it  in  the  first  instance." 

"Madam,"  answered  the  colonel,  gravely,  "I  feel 
you  are  right,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you 
address  the  meeting  of  our  share-holders,  called  for 
next  month,  to  discuss  the  question  of  our  western 
business." 

"Do  you  mean  Ranald's  position?"  asked  Kate. 

"Well,  I  rather  think  that  will  come  up." 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  Murray,  unconsciously  claim- 
ing the  colonel's  allegiance,  "I  feel  sure  there  will  be 
one  advocate  at  least  for  fair  and  honorable  dealing  at 
that  meeting."  And  the  colonel  was  far  too  gallant 
to  refuse  to  acknowledge  the  claim,  but  simply 

426 


A      GOOD       TRUE       FRIEND 

said:  "You  may  trust  me,  madam;  I  shall  do  my 
best." 

"I  only  wish  papa  were  here,"  said  Kate.  "He 
is  a  share-holder,  isn't  he?  And  wish  he  could  hear 
you,  auntie,  but  he  and  mamma  won't  be  home  for 
two  weeks." 

"Oh,  Kate,"  cried  Mrs.  Murray,  "you  make  me 
ashamed,  and  I  fear  I  have  been  talking  too  much." 

At  this  point  Harry  came  in.  "I  just  came  over 
to  send  you  to  bed,"  he  said,  kissing  his  aunt,  and 
greeting  the  others.  "You  are  all  to  look  your  most 
beautiful  to-morrow." 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  slowly,  "that  won't  be 
hard  for  the  rest  of  you,  and  it  don't  matter  much  for 
me,  and  I  hope  we  ain't  going  to  lose  our  music." 

"No,  indeed!"  cried  Kate,  sitting  down  at  the 
piano,  while  the  colonel  leaned  back  in  his  easy  chair 
and  gave  himself  up  to  an  hour's  unmingled  delight. 

"You  have  given  more  pleasure  than  you  know  to 
a  wayfaring  man,"  he  said,  as  he  bade  her  good 
night. 

"Come  again,  when  you  are  in  town,  you  are 
always  welcome,  Colonel  Thorp,"  she  said. 

"You  may  count  me  here  every  time,"  said  the 
colonel.  Then  turning  to  Mrs.  Murray,  with  a  low 
bow,  he  said,  "you  have  given  me  some  ideas,  madam, 
that  I  hope  may  not  be  quite  unfruitful,  and  as  for 
that  young  man  of  yours,  well — I — guess — you  ain't — 
hurt  his  cause  any.  We'll  put  up  a  fight,  any- 
way." 

"I  am  glad  to  have  met  you,  Colonel  Thorp,"  said 
427 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

Mrs.  Murray,  "and  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  stand  up 
for  what  is  right, ' '  and  with  another  bow  the  colonel 
took  his  leave. 

"Now,  Harry,  you  must  go,  too,"  said  Kate;  "you 
can  see  your  aunt  again  after  to-morrow,  and  I  must 
get  my  beauty  sleep,  besides  I  don't  want  to  stand 
up  with  a  man  gaunt  and  hollow-eyed  for  lack  of 
sleep,"  and  she  bundled  him  off  in  spite  of  his  remon- 
strances. But  eager  as  Kate  was  for  her  beauty 
sleep,  the  light  burned  late  in  her  room ;  and  long 
after  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Murray  snugly  tucked  in  for 
the  night,  she  sat  with  Ranald's  open  letter  in  her 
hand,  reading  it  till  she  almost  knew  it  by  heart.  It 
told,  among  other  things,  of  his  differences  with  the 
company  in  regard  to  stores,  wages,  and  supplies,  and 
of  his  efforts  to  establish  a  reading-room  at  the  mills, 
and  a  library  at  the  camps;  but  there  was  a  sentence 
at  the  close  of  the  letter  that  Kate  read  over  and  over 
again  with  the  light  of  a  great  love  in  her  eyes  and 
with  a  cry  of  pain  in  her  heart.  "The  magazines  and 
papers  that  Kate  sends  are  a  great  boon.  Dear  Kate, 
what  a  girl  she  is !  I  know  none  like  her ;  and  what  a 
friend  she  has  been  to  me  ever  since  the  day  she  stood 
up  for  me  at  Quebec.  You  remember  I  told  you 
about  that.  What  a  guy  I  must  have  been,  but  she 
never  showed  a  sign  of  shame.  I  often  think  of  that 
now,  how  different  she  was  from  another!  I  see  it 
now  as  I  could  not  then — a  man  is  a  fool  once  in  his 
life,  but  I  have  got  my  lesson  and  still  have  a  good 
true  friend."  Often  she  read  and  long  she  pondered 
the  last  words.  It  was  so  easy  to  read  too  much  into 

428 


A       GOOD       TRUE        FRIEND 

them.  "A  good,  true  friend."  She  looked  at  the 
words  till  the  tears  came.  Then  she  stood  up  and 
looked  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

"Now,  young  woman,"  she  said,  severely,  "be 
sensible  and  don't  dream  dreams  until  you  are  asleep, 
and  to  sleep  you  must  go  forthwith."  But  sleep  was 
slow  to  come,  and  strange  to  say,  it  was  the  thought 
of  the  little  woman  in  the  next  room  that  quieted  her 
heart  and  sent  her  to  sleep,  and  next  day  she  was 
looking  her  best.  And  when  the  ceremony  was  over, 
and  the  guests  were  assembled  at  the  wedding  break- 
fast, there  were  not  a  few  who  agreed  with  Harry 
when,  in  his  speech,  he  threw  down  his  gage  as  cham- 
pion for  the  peerless  bridesmaid,  whom  for  the  hour — 
alas,  too  short — he  was  privileged  to  call  his  "lady 
fair."  For  while  Kate  had  not  the  beauty  of  form 
and  face  and  the  fascination  of  manner  that  turned 
men's  heads  and  made  Maimie  the  envy  of  all  her  set, 
there  was  in  her  a  wholesomeness,  a  fearless  sincerity, 
a  noble  dignity,  and  that  indescribable  charm  of  a  true 
heart  that  made  men  trust  her  and  love  her  as  only 
good  women  are  loved.  At  last  the  brilliant  affair 
was  all  over,  the  rice  and  old  boots  were  thrown, 
the  farewell  words  spoken,  and  tears  shed,  and  then 
the  aunts  came  back  to  the  empty  and  disordered 
house. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  for  Maimie,"  said  Aunt  Frank; 
"it  is  a  good  match." 

"Dear  Maimie, "  replied  Aunt  Murray,  with  a 
gentle  sigh,  "I  hope  she  will  be  happy." 

"After  all  it  is  much  better,"  said  Aunt  Frank. 
429 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

"Yes,  it  is  much  better,"  replied  Mrs.  Murray; 
and  then  she  added,  "How  lovely  Kate  looked! 
What  a  noble  girl  she  is,"  but  she  did  not  explain 
even  to  herself,  much  less  to  Aunt  Frank,  the  nexus 
of  her  thoughts. 


43° 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  WEST 

The  meeting  of  the  share-holders  of  the  British- 
American  Lumber  and  Coal  Company  was,  on  the 
whole,  a  stormy  one,  for  the  very  best  of  reasons — the 
failure  of  the  company  to  pay  dividends.  The  annual 
report  which  the  president  presented  showed  clearly 
that  there  was  a  slight  increase  in  expenditure  and  a 
considerable  falling  off  in  sales,  and  it  needed  but  a 
little  mathematical  ability  to  reach  the  conclusion  that 
in  a  comparatively  short  time  the  company  would  be 
bankrupt.  The  share-holders  were  thoroughly  dis- 
gusted with  the  British  Columbia  end  of  the  business, 
and  were  on  the  lookout  for  a  victim.  Naturally 
their  choice  fell  upon  the  manager.  The  concern 
failed  to  pay.  It  was  the  manager's  business  to  make 
it  pay  and  the  failure  must  be  laid  to  his  charge. 
Their  confidence  in  their  manager  was  all  the  more 
shaken  by  the  reports  that  had  reached  them  of  his 
peculiar  fads — his  reading-room,  library,  etc.  These 
were  sufficient  evidence  of  his  lack  of  business  ability. 
He  was  undoubtedly  a  worthy  young  man,  but  there 
was  every  ground  to  believe  that  he  was  something  of 
a  visionary,  and  men  with  great  hesitation  intrust 
hard  cash  to  the  management  of  an  idealist.  It  was, 
perhaps,  unfortunate  for  Mr.  St.  Clair  that  he  should 
be  appealed  to  upon  this  point,  for  his  reluctance  to 


THE     MAN     FROM      GLENGARRY 

express  an  opinion  as  to  the  ability  of  the  manager, 
and  his  admission  that  possibly  the  young  man  might 
properly  be  termed  a  visionary,  brought  Colonel 
Thorp  sharply  to  his  feet. 

"Mr.  St.  Clair,"  said  the  colonel,  in  a  cool,  cut- 
ting voice,  "will  not  hesitate  to  bear  testimony  to  the 
fact  that  our  manager  is  a  man  whose  integrity  cannot 
be  tampered  with.  If  I  mistake  not,  Mr.  St.  Clair 
has  had  evidence  of  this." 

Mr.  St.  Clair  hastened  to  bear  the  very  strongest 
testimony  to  the  manager's  integrity. 

"And  Mr.  St.  Clair,  I  have  no  doubt,"  went  on 
the  colonel,  "will  be  equally  ready  to  bear  testimony 
to  the  conspicuous  ability  our  manager  displayed  while 
he  was  in  the  service  of  the  Raymond  &  St.  Clair 
Lumber  Company." 

Mr.  St.  Clair  promptly  corroborated  the  colonel's 
statement. 

"We  are  sure  of  two  things,  therefore,"  continued 
the  colonel,  "that  our  manager  is  a  man  of  integrity, 
and  that  he  has  displayed  conspicuous  business  ability 
in  his  former  positions." 

At  this  point  the  colonel  was  interrupted,  and  his 
attention  was  called  to  the  fact  that  the  reports 
showed  an  increase  of  expenditure  for  supplies  and  for 
wages,  and  on  the  other  hand  a  falling  off  in  the 
revenue  from  the  stores.  But  the  colonel  passed  over 
these  points  as  insignificant.  "It  is  clear,"  he  pro- 
ceeded, "that  the  cause  of  failure  does  not  lie  in  the 
management,  but  in  the  state  of  the  market.  The 
political  situation  in  that  country  is  very  doubtful,  and 

432 


THE  WEST 

this  has  an  exceedingly  depressing  effect  upon  busi- 
ness." 

"Then,"  interrupted  a  share-holder,  "it  is  time 
the  company  should  withdraw  from  that  country  and 
confine  itself  to  a  district  where  the  market  is  sure  and 
the  future  more  stable." 

"What  about  these  fads,  Colonel?"  asked  another 
share-holder;  "these  reading-rooms,  libraries,  etc? 
Do  you  think  we  pay  a  man  to  establish  that  sort  of 
thing?  To  my  mind  they  simply  put  a  lot  of  non- 
sense into  the  heads  of  the  working-men  and  are  the 
chief  cause  of  dissatisfaction."  Upon  this  point  the 
colonel  did  not  feel  competent  to  reply;  consequently 
the  feeling  of  the  meeting  became  decidedly  hostile  to 
the  present  manager,  and  a  resolution  was  offered 
demanding  his  resignation.  It  was  also  agreed  that 
the  board  of  directors  should  consider  the  advisability 
of  withdrawing  altogether  from  British  Columbia, 
inasmuch  as  the  future  of  that  country  seemed  to  be 
very  uncertain.  Thereupon  Colonel  Thorp  rose  and 
begged  leave  to  withdraw  his  name  from  the  directo- 
rate of  the  company.  He  thought  it  was  unwise  to 
abandon  a  country  where  they  had  spent  large  sums 
of  money,  without  a  thorough  investigation  of  the 
situation,  and  he  further  desired  to  enter  his  protest 
against  the  injustice  of  making  their  manager  suffer 
for  a  failure  for  which  he  had  in  no  way  been  shown 
to  be  responsible.  But  the  share-holders  refused  to 
even  consider  Colonel  Thorp's  request,  and  both  the 
president  and  secretary  exhausted  their  eloquence  in 
eulogizing  his  value  to  the  company.  As  a  compromise 

433 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

it  was  finally  decided  to  continue  operations  in  British 
Columbia  for  another  season.  Colonel  Thorp  declared 
that  the  reforms  and  reorganization  schemes  inaugu- 
rated by  Ranald  would  result  in  great  reductions  in 
the  cost  of  production,  and  that  Ranald  should  be  given 
opportunity  to  demonstrate  the  success  or  failure  of 
his  plans ;  and  further,  the  political  situation  doubtless 
would  be  more  settled.  The  wisdom  of  this  decision 
was  manifested  later. 

The  spirit  of  unrest  and  dissatisfaction  appeared 
again  at  the  next  annual  meeting,  for  while  conditions 
were  improving,  dividends  were  not  yet  forthcoming. 
Once  again  Colonel  Thorp  successfully  championed 
Ranald's  cause,  this  time  insisting  that  a  further  test 
of  two  seasons  be  made,  prophesying  that  not  only 
would  the  present  deficit  disappear,  but  that  their 
patience  and  confidence  would  be  amply  rewarded. 

Yielding  to  pressure,  and  desiring  to  acquaint  him- 
self with  actual  conditions  from  personal  observation, 
Colonel  Thorp  concluded  to  visit  British  Columbia  the 
autumn  preceding  the  annual  meeting  which  was  to 
succeed  Ranald's  period  of  probation. 

Therefore  it  was  that  Colonel  Thorp  found  himself 
on  the  coast  steamship  Oregon  approaching  the  city 
of  Victoria.  He  had  not  enjoyed  his  voyage,  and  was, 
consequently,  in  no  mood  to  receive  the  note  which 
was  handed  him  by  a  brisk  young  man  at  the  landing. 

"Who's  this  from,  Pat,"  said  the  colonel,  taking 
the  note. 

"Mike,  if  you  please,  Michael  Cole,  if  you  don't 
mind;  and  the  note  is  from  the  boss,  Mr.  Macdonald, 

434 


THE  WEST 

who  has  gone  up  the  country,  and  can't  be  here  to 
welcome  you." 

"Gone  up  the  country!"  roared  the  colonel;  "what 
the  blank,  blank,  does  he  mean  by  going  up  the  coun- 
try at  this  particular  time?" 

But  Mr.  Michael  Cole  was  quite  undisturbed  by 
the  colonel's  wrath.  "You  might  find  the  reason  in 
the  note,"  he  said,  coolly,  and  the  colonel,  glaring  at 
him,  opened  the  note  and  read: 

"  MY  DEAR  COLONEL  THORP:  I  am  greatly  disappointed  in 
not  being  able  to  meet  you.  The  truth  is  I  only  received  your 
letter  this  week.  Our  mails  are  none  too  prompt,  and  so  I  have 
been  unable  to  re-arrange  my  plans.  .  I  find  it  necessary  to  run  up 
the  river  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  In  the  meantime,  thinking  that 
possibly  you  might  like  to  see  something  of  our  country,  I  have 
arranged  that  you  should  join  the  party  of  the  Lieutenant  Governor 
on  their  trip  to  the  interior,  and  which  will  take  only  about  four 
weeks'  time.  The  party  are  going  to  visit  the  most  interesting 
districts  of  our  country,  including  both  the  famous  mining  district 
of  Cariboo  and  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Okanagan.  Mr.  Cole, 
my  clerk,  will  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Blair,  our  member  of  Parlia- 
ment for  Westminster,  who  will  present  you  to  the  rest  of  the 
party.  Mr.  Blair,  I  need  not  say,  is  one  of  the  brightest  business 
men  in  the  West.  I  shall  meet  you  at  Yale  on  your  return.  If  it 
is  absolutely  impossible  for  you  to  take  this  trip,  and  necessary 
that  I  should  return  at  once,  Mr.  Cole  will  see  that  a  special 
messenger  is  sent  to  me,  but  I  would  strongly  urge  that  you 
go,  if  possible. 

"  With  kind  regards." 

"Look  here,  young  man,"  yelled  the  colonel,  "do 
you  think  I've  come  all  this  way  to  go  gallivanting 
around  the  country  with  any  blank,  blank  royal  party?" 

' '  I  don't  know,  Colonel, ' '  said  young  Cole,  brightly ; 
"but  I  tell  you  I'd  like  mighty  well  to  go  in  your 
place." 

435 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"And  where  in  the  nation  is  your  boss,  and  what's 
he  after,  anyway?" 

"He's  away  up  the  river  looking  after  business,  and 
pretty  big  business,  too,"  said  Coley,  not  at  all  over- 
awed by  the  colonel's  wrath. 

"Well,  I  hope  he  knows  himself,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Oh,  don't  make  any  mistake  about  that,  Colo- 
nel," said  young  Cole;  "he  always  knows  where  he's 
going  and  what  he  wants,  and  he  gets  it."  But  the 
colonel  made  no  reply,  nor  did  he  deign  to  notice  Mr. 
Michael  Cole  again  until  they  had  arrived  at  the 
New  Westminster  landing. 

"The  boss  didn't  know,"  said  Coley,  approaching 
the  colonel  with  some  degree  of  care,  "whether  you 
would  like  to  go  to  the  hotel  or  to  his  rooms ;  you 
can  take  your  choice.  The  hotel  is  not  of  the  best, 
and  he  thought  perhaps  you  could  put  up  with  his 
rooms. ' ' 

"All  right,"  said  the  colonel;  "I  guess  they'll  suit 
me." 

The  colonel  made  no  mistake  in  deciding  for  Ran- 
ald's quarters.  They  consisted  of  two  rooms  that 
formed  one  corner  of  a  long,  wooden,  single-story  build- 
ing in  the  shape  of  an  L.  One  of  these  rooms  Ranald 
made  his  dining-room  and  bedroom,  the  other  was  his 
office.  The  rest  of  the  building  was  divided  into  three 
sections,  and  constituted  a  dining-room,  reading- 
room,  and  bunk-room  for  the  men.  The  walls  of  these 
rooms  were  decorated  not  inartistically  with  a  few 
colored  prints  and  with  cuts  from  illustrated  papers, 
many  and  divers.  The  furniture  throughout  was 

436 


THE  WEST 

home-made,  with  the  single  exception  of  a  cabinet 
organ  which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  reading-room. 
On  the  windows  of  the  dining-room  and  bunk-room 
were  green  roller  blinds,  but  those  of  the  reading-room 
were  draped  with  curtains  of  flowered  muslin.  Indeed 
the  reading-room  was  distinguished  from  the  others 
by  a  more  artistic  and  elaborate  decoration,  and  by  a 
greater  variety  of  furniture.  The  room  was  evidently 
the  pride  of  the  company's  heart.  In  Ranald's  pri- 
vate room  the  same  simplicity  in  furniture  and  decora- 
tion was  apparent,  but  when  the  colonel  was  ushered 
into  the  bedroom  his  eye  fell  at  once  upon  two  photo- 
graphs, beautifully  framed,  hung  on  each  side  of  the 
mirror. 

"Hello,  guess  I  ought  to  know  this,"  he  said, 
looking  at  one  of  them. 

Coley  beamed.  "You  do,  eh?  Well,  then,  she's 
worth  knowin'  and  there's  only  one  of  her  kind." 

"Don't  know  about  that,  young  man,"  said  the 
colonel,  looking  at  the  other  photograph;  "here's  one 
that  ought  to  go  in  her  class." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Coley,  doubtfully,  "the  boss 
thinks  so,  I  guess,  from  the  way  he  looks  at  it." 

"Young  man,  what  sort  of  a  fellow's  your  boss?" 
said  the  colonel,  suddenly  facing  Coley. 

"What  sort?"  Coley  thought  a  moment.  "Well, 
'twould  need  a  good  eddication  to  tell,  but  there's 
only  one  in  his  class,  I  tell  you." 

"Then  he  owes  it  to  this  little  woman,"  pointing 
to  one  of  the  photographs,  "and  she,"  pointing  to 
the  other,  "said  so." 

437 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Then  you  may  bet  it's  true." 

"I  don't  bet  on  a  sure  thing,"  said  the  colonel,  his 
annoyance  vanishing  in  a  slow  smile,  his  first  since 
reaching  the  province. 

"Dinner'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,  sir,"  said 
Coley,  swearing  allegiance  in  his  heart  to  the  man  that 
agreed  with  him  in  regard  to  the  photograph  that 
stood  with  Coley  for  all  that  was  highest  in  hu- 
manity. 

"John,"  he  said,  sharply,  to  the  Chinese  cook, 
"got  good  dinner,  eh?" 

"Pitty  good,"  said  John,  indifferently. 

"Now,  look  here,  John,  him  big  man."  John  was 
not  much  impressed.  "Awful  big  man,  I  tell  you, 
big  soldier."  John  preserved  a  stolid  countenance. 

"John,"  said  the  exasperated  Coley,  "I'll  kick 
you  across  this  room  and  back  if  you  don't  listen  to 
me.  Want  big  dinner,  heap  good,  eh?" 

"Huh-huh,  belly  good,"  replied  John,  with  a 
slight  show  of  interest. 

"I  say,  John,  what  you  got  for  dinner,  eh?"  asked 
Coley,  changing  his  tactics. 

"Ham,  eggs,  lice,"  answered  the  Mongolian,  im- 
perturbably. 

"Gee  whiz!"  said  Coley,  "goin'  to  feed  the  boss' 
uncle  on  ham  and  eggs?" 

"What?"  said  John,  with  sudden  interest,  "Uncle 
boss,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  unblushing  Coley. 

"Huh!  Coley  heap  fool!  Get  chicken,  quick! 
meat  shop,  small,  eh?"  The  Chinaman  was  at  last 

438 


THE  WEST 

aroused.  Pots,  pans,  and  other  utensils  were  in  im- 
mediate requisition,  a  roaring  fire  set  a-going,  and  in 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  the  colonel  sat  down  to  a 
dinner  of  soup,  fish,  and  fowl,  with  various  entries 
and  side  dishes  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  New 
York  chef.  Thus  potent  was  the  name  of  the  boss 
with  his  cook. 

John's  excellent  dinner  did  much  to  soothe  and 
mollify  his  guest;  but  the  colonel  was  sensitive  to 
impressions  other  than  the  purely  gastronomic,  for 
throughout  the  course  of  the  dinner,  his  eyes  wandered 
to  the  photographs  on  the  wall,  and  in  fancy  he  was 
once  more  in  the  presence  of  the  two  women,  to 
whom  he  felt  pledged  in  Ranald's  behalf.  "It's  a 
one-horse  looking  country,  though,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "and  no  place  for  a  man  with  any  snap.  Best 
thing  would  be  to  pull  out,  I  guess,  and  take  him 
along."  And  it  was  in  this  mind  that  he  received 
the  Honorable  Archibald  Blair,  M.  P.  P.,  for  New 
Westminster,  president  of  the  British  Columbia  Can- 
ning Company,  recently  organized,  and  a  director  in 
half  a  dozen  other  business  concerns. 

"Colonel  Thorp,  this  is  Mr.  Blair,  of  the  British 
Columbia  Canning  Company,"  said  Coley,  with  a 
curious  suggestion  of  Ranald  in  his  manner. 

"Glad  to  welcome  a  friend  of  Mr.  Macdonald's," 
said  Mr.  Blair,  a  little  man  of  about  thirty,  with  a 
shrewd  eye  and  a  kindly  frank  manner. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  can  say  the  same,"  said  Colonel 
Thorp,  shaking  hands.  "I  judge  his  friends  are  of 
the  right  sort." 

439 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"You'll  find  plenty  in  this  country  glad  to  class 
themselves  in  that  list,"  laughed  Mr.  Blair;  "I 
wouldn't  undertake  to  guarantee  them  all,  but  those 
he  lists  that  way,  you  can  pretty  well  bank  on.  He's 
a  young  man  for  reading  men." 

"Yes?"  said  the  colonel,  interrogatively;  "he's 
very  young." 

"Young,  for  that  matter  so  are  we  all,  especially 
on  this  side  the  water  here.  It's  a  young  man's 
country." 

" Pretty  young,  I  judge,"  said  the  colonel,  dryly. 
"Lots  of  room  to  grow." 

"Yes,  thank  Providence!"  said  Mr.  Blair,  enthusi- 
astically; "but  there's  lots  of  life  and  lots  to  feed  it. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  talk,  Colonel.  It  is  always 
wasted  breath  on  an  Easterner.  I'll  let  the  country 
talk.  You  are  coming  with  us,  of  course." 

"Hardly  think  so;  my  time  is  rather  limited,  and, 
well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm  from  across  the  line  and 
don't  cater  much  to  your  royalties." 

"Royalties!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Blair.  "Oh,  you 
mean  our  governor.  Well,  that's  good  rather,  must 
tell  the  governor  that."  Mr.  Blair  laughed  long  and 
loud.  "You'll  forget  all  that  when  you  are  out  with 
us  an  hour.  No,  we  think  it  well  to  hedge  our  gov- 
ernment with  dignity,  but  on  this  trip  we  shall  leave 
the  gold  lace  and  red  tape  behind." 

"How  long  do  you  propose  to  be  gone?" 

"About  four  weeks.  But  I  make  you  a  promise. 
If  after  the  first  week  you  want  to  return  from  any 
point,  I  shall  send  you  back  with  all  speed.  But  you 

440 


THE  WEST 

won't  want  to,  I  guarantee  you  that.  Why,  my  dear 
sir,  think  of  the  route, ' '  and  Mr.  Blair  went  off  into 
a  rapturous  description  of  the  marvels  of  the  young 
province,  its  scenery,  its  resources,  its  climate,  its 
sport,  playing  upon  each  string  as  he  marked  the 
effect  upon  his  listener.  By  the  time  Mr.  Blair's  visit 
was  over,  the  colonel  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  see  something  of  this  wonderful  country. 

Next  day  Coley  took  him  over  the  company's 
mills,  and  was  not  a  little  disappointed  to  see  that  the 
colonel  was  not  impressed  by  their  size  or  equipment. 
In  Coley's  eyes  they  were  phenomenal,  and  he  was 
inclined  to  resent  the  colonel's  lofty  manner.  The 
foreman,  Mr.  Urquhart,  a  shrewd  Scotchman,  who 
had  seen  the  mills  of  the  Ottawa  River  and  those  in 
Michigan  as  well,  understood  his  visitor's  attitude 
better ;  and  besides,  it  suited  his  Scotch  nature  to  refuse 
any  approach  to  open  admiration  for  anything  out  of 
the  old  land.  His  ordinary  commendation  was,  "It's 
no  that  bad"  ;  and  his  superlative  was  expressed  in 
the  daring  concession,  "Aye,  it'll  maybe  dae,  it 
micht  bewaur."  So  he  followed  the  colonel  about 
with  disparaging  comments  that  drove  Coley  to  the 
verge  of  madness.  When  they  came  to  the  engine 
room,  which  was  Urquhart's  pride,  the  climax  was 
reached. 

"It's  a  wee  bit  o'  a  place,  an'  no  fit  for  thewark," 
said  Urquhart,  ushering  the  colonel  into  a  snug  little 
engine-room,  where  every  bit  of  brass  shone  with  daz- 
zling brightness,  and  every  part  of  the  engine  moved 
in  smooth,  sweet  harmony. 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Slick  little  engine,"  said  the  colonel,  with  dis- 
criminating admiration. 

"It's  no  that  bad  the  noo,  but  ye  sud  hae  seen  it 
afore  Jem,  there,  took  a  hand  o'  it — a  wheezin'  rat- 
tlin'  pechin  thing  that  ye  micht  expect  tae  flee  in  bits 
for  the  noise  in  the  wame  o't.  But  Jemmie  sorted  it 
till  it's  nae  despicable  for  its  size.  But  it's  no  fit  for 
the  wark.  Jemmie,  lad,  just  gie't  its  fill  an'  we'll  pit 
the  saw  until  a  log,"  said  Urquhart,  as  they  went  up 
into  the  sawing-room  where,  in  a  few  minutes,  the 
colonel  had  an  exhibition  of  the  saw  sticking  fast  in  a 
log  for  lack  of  power. 

"Man,  yen's  a  lad  that  kens  his  trade.  He's  frae 
Gleska.  He  earns  his  money's  warth." 

"How  did  you  come  to  get  him?"  said  the  colonel, 
moved  to  interest  by  Urquhart' s  unwonted  praise. 

"Indeed,  just  the  way  we've  got  all  our  best  men. 
It's  the  boss  picked  him  oot  o*  the  gutter,  and  there 
he  is  earnin'  his  twa  and  a  half  a  day." 

"The  boss  did  that,  eh?"  said  the  colonel,  with 
one  of  his  swift  glances  at  the  speaker. 

"Aye,  that  he  did,  and  he's  only  one  o'  many." 

"He's  good  at  that  sort  of  business,  I  guess." 

"Aye,  he  kens  men  as  ye  can  see  frae  his  gang." 

"Doesn't  seem  to  be  able  to  make  the  company's 
business  pay,"  ventured  the  colonel. 

"D'ye  think  ye  cud  find  one  that  cud?"  pointing 
to  the  halting  saw.  "An  that's  the  machine  that 
turned  oot  thae  piles  yonder.  Gie  him  a  chance, 
though,  an'  when  the  stuff  is  deesposed  of  ye' 11  get 
y're  profit."  Urquhart  knew  what  he  was  about,  and 

442 


THE  WEST 

the  colonel  went  back  with  Coley  to  his  rooms  con- 
vinced of  two  facts,  that  the  company  had  a  plant 
that  might  easily  be  improved,  but  a  manager  that,  in 
the  estimation  of  those  who  wrought  with  him,  was 
easily  first  in  his  class.  Ranald  could  have  adopted 
no  better  plan  for  the  enhancing  of  his  reputation 
than  by  allowing  Colonel  Thorp  to  go  in  and  out 
among  the  workmen  and  his  friends.  More  and  more 
the  colonel  became  impressed  with  his  manager's 
genius  for  the  picking  of  his  men  and  binding  them 
to  his  interests,  and  as  this  impression  deepened  he 
became  the  more  resolved  that  it  was  a  waste  of  good 
material  to  retain  a  man  in  a  country  offering  such 
a  limited  scope  for  his  abilities. 

But  after  four  weeks  spent  in  exploring  the  interior, 
from  Quesnelle  to  Okanagan,  and  in  the  following  in 
and  out  the  water-ways  of  the  coast  line,  the  colonel 
met  Ranald  at  Yale  with  only  a  problem  to  be  solved, 
and  he  lost  no  time  in  putting  it  to  his  manager. 

"How  in  thunder  can  I  get  those  narrow-gauge, 
hidebound  Easterners  to  launch  out  into  business  in 
this  country?" 

"I  can't  help  you  there,  Colonel.  I've  tried  and 
failed." 

"By  the  great  Sam,  so  you  have!"  said  the  colo- 
nel, with  a  sudden  conviction  of  his  own  limitations 
in  the  past.  "No  use  tryin'  to  tell  'em  of  this," 
swinging  his  long  arm  toward  the  great  sweep  of  the 
Fraser  Valley,  clothed  with  a  mighty  forest.  "It's 
only  a  question  of  holdin'  on  for  a  few  years,  the 
thing's  dead  sure." 

443 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"I  have  been  through  a  good  part  of  it,"  said 
Ranald,  quietly,  and  I  am  convinced  that  here  we 
have  the  pick  of  Canada,  and  I  venture  to  say  of  the 
American  Continent.  Timber,  hundreds  of  square 
miles  of  it,  fish — I've  seen  that  river  so  packed  with 
salmon  that  I  couldn't  shove  my  canoe  through — " 

' '  Hold  on,  now, ' '  said  the  colonel, ' ' give  me  time. ' ' 

"Simple,  sober  truth  of  my  own  proving,"  replied 
Ranald.  "And  you  saw  a  fringe  of  the  mines  up  in 
the  Cariboo.  The  Kootenai  is  full  of  gold  and  silver, 
and  in  the  Okanagan  you  can  grow  food  and  fruits  for 
millions  of  people.  I  know  what  I  am  saying." 

"Tell  you  what,"  said  the  colonel,  "you  make  me 
think  you're  speakin'  the  truth  anyhow."  Then, 
with  a  sudden  inspiration,  he  exclaimed:  "By  the 
great  Sammy,  I've  got  an  idea!"  and  then,  as  he  saw 
Ranald  waiting,  added,  "But  I  guess  I'll  let  it  soak 
till  we  get  down  to  the  mill." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  spare  me,  Colonel?" 
asked  Ranald,  in  a  dubious  voice;  "I  really  ought  to 
run  through  a  bit  of  timber  here." 

"No,  by  the  great  Sam,  I  can't!  I  want  you  to 
come  right  along,"  replied  the  colonel,  with  emphasis. 

"What  is  he  saying,  Colonel?"  asked  Mr.  Blair. 

"Wants  to  run  off  and  leave  me  to  paddle  my  way 
home  alone.  Not  much!  I  tell  you  what,  we  have 
some  important  business  to  do  before  I  go  East.  You 
hear  me?" 

"And  besides,  Macdonald,  I  want  you  for  that  big 
meeting  of  ours  next  week.  You  simply  must  be 
there." 


THE  WEST 

"You  flatter  me,  Mr.  Blair." 

"Not  a  bit;  you  know  there  are  a  lot  of  hot-heads 
talking  separation  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  want 
some  level-headed  fellow  who  is  in  with  the  working 
men  to  be  there." 

And  as  it  turned  out  it  was  a  good  thing  for  Mr. 
Blair  and  for  the  cause  he  represented  that  Ranald  was 
present  at  the  great  mass-meeting  held  in  New  West- 
minster the  next  week.  For  the  people  were  exasper- 
ated beyond  all  endurance  at  the  delay  of  the 
Dominion  in  making  good  the  solemn  promises  given 
at  the  time  of  Confederation,  and  were  in  a  mood  to 
listen  to  the  proposals  freely  made  that  the  useless 
bond  should  be  severed.  "Railway  or  separation," 
was  the  cry,  and  resolutions  embodying  this  sentiment 
were  actually  proposed  and  discussed.  It  was  Ran- 
ald's speech,  every  one  said,  that  turned  the  tide. 
His  calm  logic  made  clear  the  folly  of  even  consider- 
ing separation ;  his  knowledge  of,  and  his  unbounded 
faith  in,  the  resources  of  the  province,  and  more  than 
all,  his  impassioned  picturing  of  the  future  of  the 
great  Dominion  reaching  from  ocean  to  ocean,  knit 
together  by  ties  of  common  interest,  and  a  common 
loyalty  that  would  become  more  vividly  real  when  the 
provinces  had  been  brought  more  closely  together  by 
the  promised  railway.  They  might  have  to  wait  a 
little  longer,  but  it  was  worth  while  waiting,  and 
there  was  no  future  in  any  other  policy.  It  was  his 
first  speech  at  a  great  meeting,  and  as  Mr.  Blair  shook 
him  warmly  by  the  hand,  the  crowd  burst  into  enthu- 
siastic cries,  "Macdonald!  Macdonald!"  and  in  one  of 

445 


THE      MAN      FROM     GLENGARRY 

the  pauses  a  single  voice  was  heard,  "Glengarry  for- 
ever!" Then  again  the  crowd  broke  forth,  "Glen- 
garry !  Glengarry !"  for  all  who  knew  Ranald  personally 
had  heard  of  the  gang  that  were  once  the  pride  of  the 
Ottawa.  At  that  old  cry  Ranald's  face  flushed  deep 
red,  and  he  had  no  words  to  answer  his  friends'  warm 
congratulations. 

"Send  him  East,"  cried  a  voice. 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  it.  Send  him  to  Ottawa  to  John 
A.  It's  the  same  clan!" 

Swiftly  Mr.  Blair  made  up  his  mind.  "Gentle- 
men, that  is  a  good  suggestion.  I  make  it  a  motion." 
It  was  seconded  in  a  dozen  places,  and  carried  by  a 
standing  vote.  Then  Ranald  rose  again  and  modestly 
protested  that  he  was  not  the  man  to  go.  He  was 
quite  unknown  in  the  province. 

"We  know  you!"  the  same  voice  called  out,  fol- 
lowed by  a  roar  of  approval. 

"And,  besides,"  went  on  Ranald,  "it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  get  away;  I'm  a  working  man  and  not  my 
own  master." 

Then  the  colonel,  who  was  sitting  on  the  platform, 
rose  and  begged  to  be  heard.  "Mr.  Chairman  and 
gentlemen,  I  ain't  a  Canadian — " 

"Never  mind!  You  can't  help  that,"  sang  out  a 
man  from  the  back,  with  a  roar  of  laughter  following. 

"But  if  I  weren't  an  American,  I  don't  know  any- 
thing that  I'd  rather  be."  (Great  applause.)  "Four 
weeks  ago  I  wouldn't  have  taken  your  province  as  a 
gift.  Now  I  only  wish  Uncle  Sam  could  persuade 
you  to  sell."  (Cries  of  "He  hasn't  got  money  enough. 

446 


THE  WEST 

Don't  fool  yourself.")  "But  I  want  to  say  that  this 
young  man  of  mine,"  pointing  to  Ranald,  "has  given 
you  good  talk,  and  if  you  want  him  to  go  East,  why, 
I'll  let  him  off  for  a  spell."  (Loud  cheers  for  the 
colonel  and  for  Macdonald.) 

A  week  later  a  great  meeting  in  Victoria  indorsed 
the  New  Westminster  resolutions  with  the  added 
demand  that  the  railway  should  be  continued  to 
Esquinalt  according  to  the  original  agreement. 
Another  delegate  was  appointed  to  represent  the 
wishes  of  the  islanders,  and  before  Ranald  had  fully 
realized  what  had  happened  he  found  himself  a  famous 
man,  and  on  the  way  to  the  East  with  the  jubilant 
colonel. 

"What  was  the  great  idea,  Colonel,  that  struck 
you  at  Yale?"  inquired  Ranald,  as  they  were  fairly 
steaming  out  of  the  Esquinalt  harbor. 

"This  is  it,  my  boy!"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  slap- 
ping him  on  the  back.  "This  here  trip  East.  Now 
we've  got  'em  over  the  ropes,  by  the  great  and  ever- 
lasting Sammy!"  the  form  of  oath  indicating  a  climax 
in  the  colonel's  emotion. 

"Got  who?"  inquired  Ranald,  mystified. 

"Them  gol-blamed,  cross-road  hayseeds  down 
East."  And  with  this  the  colonel  became  discreetly 
silent.  He  knew  too  well  the  sensitive  pride  of  the 
man  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  he  was  chiefly 
anxious  now  that  Ranald  should  know  as  little  as 
possible  of  the  real  object  of  his  going  to  British 
Columbia. 

"We've  got  to  make  the  British-American  Coal 
447 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

and  Lumber  Company  know  the  time  of  day.  It's 
gittin'-up  time  out  in  this  country.  They  were  talkin' 
a  little  of  drawin'  out."  Ranald  gasped.  "Some  of 
them  only,"  the  colonel  hastened  to  add,  "but  I 
want  you  to  talk  like  you  did  the  other  night,  and 
I'll  tell  my  little  tale,  and  if  that  don't  fetch  'em 
then  I'm  a  Turk." 

"Well,  Colonel,  here's  my  word,"  said  Ranald, 
deliberately,  "if  the  company  wish  to  withdraw  they 
may  do  so,  but  my  future  is  bound  up  with  that  of 
the  West,  and  I  have  no  fear  that  it  will  fail  me.  I 
stake  my  all  upon  the  West." 


448 


CHAPTER   XXV 

GLENGARRY  FOREVER 

The  colonel  was  an  experienced  traveler,  and 
believed  in  making  himself  comfortable.  Ranald 
looked  on  with  some  amusement,  and  a  little  wonder, 
while  the  colonel  arranged  his  things  about  the  state- 
room. 

' '  May  as  well  make  things  comfortable  while  we 
can,"  said  the  colonel,  "we  have  the  better  part  of 
three  days  before  us  on  this  boat,  and  if  it  gets  rough, 
it  is  better  to  have  things  neat.  Now  you  go  ahead," 
he  added,  "and  get  your  things  out." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Colonel.  I  am  not  much 
used  to  travel,  but  I  shall  take  your  advice  on  this." 

"Well,  I  have  traveled  considerable  these  last 
twenty  years,"  replied  the  colonel.  "I  say,  would  you 
mind  leaving  those  out?" 

"What?" 

"Those  photos.  They're  the  two  you  had  up  by 
the  glass  in  your  room,  aren't  they?"  Ranald  flushed 
a  little. 

"Of  course  it  ain't  for  every  one  to  .see,  and  I 
would  not  ask  you,  but  those  two  ain't  like  any  other 
two  that  I  have  seen,  and  I  have  seen  a  good  many 
in  forty  years."  Ranald  said  nothing,  but  set  the 
photographs  on  a  little  bracket  on  the  wall. 

"There,  that  makes  this  room  feel  better,"  said 
449 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

the  colonel.  "That  there  is  the  finest,  sweetest, 
truest  girl  that  walks  this  sphere,"  he  said,  pointing 
at  Kate's  photograph,  "and  the  other,  I  guess  you 
know  all  about  her." 

"Yes,  I  know  about  her,"  said  Ranald,  looking  at 
the  photograph;  "it  is  to  her  I  owe  everything  I  have 
that  is  any  good.  And  Colonel,"  he  added,  with  an 
unusual  burst  of  confidence,  "when  my  life  was  broken 
off  short,  that  woman  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting 
hold  of  it  again." 

"Well,  they  both  think  a  pile  of  you,"  was  the 
colonel's  reply. 

"Yes,  I  think  they  do,"  said  Ranald.  "They  are 
not  the  kind  to  forget  a  man  when  he  is  out  of  sight, 
and  it  is  worth  traveling  two  thousand  miles  to  see 
them  again." 

"Ain't  it  queer,  now,  how  the  world  is  run?"  said 
the  colonel.  "There's  two  women,  now,  the  very 
best;  one  has  been  buried  all  her  life  in  a  little  hole 
in  the  woods,  and  the  other  is  giving  herself  to  a  fel- 
low that  ain't  fit  to  carry  her  boots." 

"What!"  said  Ranald,  sharply,  "Kate?" 

"Yes,  they  say  she  is  going  to  throw  herself  away 
on  young  St.  Clair.  He  is  all  right,  I  suppose,  but 
he  ain't  fit  for  her."  Ranald  suddenly  stooped  over 
his  valise  and  began  pulling  out  his  things. 

"I  didn't  hear  of  that,"  he  said. 

"I  did,"  said  the  colonel;  "you  see  he  is  always 
there,  and  acting  as  if  he  owned  her.  He  stuck  to 
her  for  a  long  time,  and  I  guess  she  got  tired  holding 
out." 


GLENGARRY    FOREVER 

"Harry  is  a  very  decent  fellow,"  said  Ranald,  ris- 
ing up  from  his  unpacking;  "I  say,  this  boat's  close. 
Let  us  go  up  on  deck." 

"Wait,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  want  to  talk  over  our 
plans,  and  we  can  talk  better  here." 

"No,"  said  Ranald;  "I  want  some  fresh  air.  Let 
us  go  up."  And  without  further  words,  he  hurried 
up  the  gangway.  It  was  some  time  before  Colonel 
Thorp  found  him  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  immedi- 
ately began  to  talk  over  their  plans. 

"You  spoke  of  going  to  Toronto  first  thing,"  he 
said  to  Ranald. 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald;  "but  I  think  I  ought  to  go 
to  Ottawa  at  once,  and  then  I  shall  see  my  people  in 
Glengarry  for  a  few  days.  Then  I  will  be  ready  for 
the  meeting  at  Bay  City  any  time  after  the  second 
week." 

"But  you  have  not  put  Toronto  in  there,'*  said 
the  colonel;  "you  are  not  going  to  disappoint  that 
little  girl?  She  would  take  it  pretty  hard.  Mind 
you,  she  wants  to  see  you." 

"Oh,  of  course  I  shall  run  in  for  a  day." 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  want  to  give  you 
plenty  of  time.  I  will  arrange  that  meeting  for  a 
month  from  to-day." 

"No,  no,"  said  Ranald,  impatiently;  "I  must  get 
back  to  the  West.  Two  weeks  will  do  me." 

"Well,  we  will  make  it  three,"  said  the  colonel. 
He  could  not  understand  Ranald's  sudden  eagerness 
to  set  out  for  the  West  again.  He  had  spoken  with 
such  enthusiastic  delight  of  his  visit  to  Toronto,  and 

45' 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

now  he  was  only  going  to  run  in  for  a  day  or  so. 
And  if  Ranald  himself  were  asked,  he  would  have 
found  it  difficult  to  explain  his  sudden  lack  of  inter- 
est, not  only  in  Toronto,  but  in  everything  that  lay  in 
the  East.  He  was  conscious  of  a  deep,  dull  ache  in 
his  heart,  and  he  could  not  quite  explain  it. 

After  the  colonel  had  gone  down  for  the  night, 
Ranald  walked  the  deck  alone  and  resolutely  faced 
himself.  His  first  frank  look  within  revealed  to  him 
the  fact  that  his  pain  had  come  upon  him  with  the 
colonel's  information  that  Kate  had  given  herself  to 
Harry.  It  was  right  that  he  should  be  disappointed. 
Harry,  though  a  decent  enough  fellow,  did  not  begin  to 
be  worthy  of  her;  and  indeed  no  one  that  he  knew  was 
worthy  of  her.  But  why  should  he  feel  so  sorely 
about  it?  For  years  Harry  had  been  her  devoted 
slave.  He  would  give  her  the  love  of  an  honest  man, 
and  would  surround  her  with  all  the  comforts  and 
luxuries  that  wealth  could  bring.  She  would  be  very 
happy.  He  had  no  right  to  grieve  about  it.  And 
yet  he  did  grieve.  The  whole  sky  over  the  landscape 
of  his  life  had  suddenly  become  cold  and  gray.  Dur- 
ing these  years  Kate  had  grown  to  be  much  to  him. 
She  had  in  many  ways  helped  him  in  his  work.  The 
thought  of  her  and  her  approval  had  brought  him 
inspiration  and  strength  in  many  an  hour  of  weakness 
and  loneliness.  She  had  been  so  loyal  and  so  true 
from  the  very  first,  and  it  was  a  bitter  thing  to  feel 
that  another  had  come  between  them.  Over  and 
over  again  he  accused  himself  of  sheer  madness.  Why 
should  she  not  love  Harry?  That  need  not  make  her 

452 


GLENGARRY    FOREVER 

any  less  his  friend.  But  in  spite  of  his  arguments,  he 
found  himself  weary  of  the  East  and  eager  to  turn 
away  from  it.  He  must  hurry  on  at  once  to  Ottawa, 
and  with  all  speed  get  done  his  business  there. 

At  Chicago  he  left  the  colonel  with  a  promise  to 
meet  him  in  three  weeks  at  the  headquarters  of  the 
British- American  Coal  and  Lumber  Company  at  Bay 
City.  He  wired  to  Ottawa,  asking  an  appointment 
with  the  government,  and  after  three  days'  hard  travel 
found  himself  in  the  capital  of  the  Dominion.  The 
premier,  Sir  John  A.  Macdonald,  with  the  ready 
courtesy  characteristic  of  him,  immediately  arranged 
for  a  hearing  of  the  delegation  from  British  Columbia. 
Ranald  was  surprised  at  the  indifference  with  which 
he  approached  this  meeting.  He  seemed  to  have  lost 
capacity  for  keen  feeling  of  any  kind.  Sir  John  A. 
Macdonald  and  his  cabinet  received  the  delegation 
with  great  kindness,  and  in  every  possible  way  strove 
to  make  them  feel  that  the  government  was  genuinely 
interested  in  the  western  province,  and  was  anxious 
to  do  all  that  could  be  done  in  their  interest.  In  the 
conference  that  ensued,  the  delegate  for  Victoria  took 
a  more  prominent  part,  being  an  older  man,  and  repre- 
senting the  larger  and  more  important  constituency. 
But  when  Sir  John  began  to  ask  questions,  the  Vic- 
toria delegate  was  soon  beyond  his  depth.  The 
premier  showed  such  an  exactness  of  knowledge  and 
comprehensiveness  of  grasp  that  before  long  Ranald 
was  appealed  to  for  information  in  regard  to  the 
resources  of  the  country,  and  especially  the  causes  and 
extent  of  the  present  discontent. 

453 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"The  causes  of  discontent  are  very  easy  to  see," 
said  Ranald;  "all  British  Columbians  feel  hurt  at  the 
failure  of  the  Dominion  government  to  keep  its 
solemn  obligations." 

"Is  there  nothing  else  now,  Mr.  Macdonald?" 

"There  may  be,"  said  Ranald,  "some  lingering  im- 
patience with  the  government  by  different  officials,  and 
there  is  a  certain  amount  of  annexation  sentiment." 

"Ah,"  said  Sir  John,  "I  think  we  have  our  finger 
upon  it  now.'* 

"Do  not  over-estimate  that,"  said  Ranald;  "I 
believe  that  there  are  only  a  very  few  with  annexation 
sentiments,  and  all  these  are  of  American  birth.  The 
great  body  of  the  people  are  simply  indignant  at,  and 
disappointed  with,  the  Dominion  government." 

"And  would  you  say  there  is  no  other  cause  of 
discontent,  Mr.  Macdonald?"  said  Sir  John,  with  a 
keen  look  at  Ranald. 

"There  is  another  cause,  I  believe,"  said  Ranald, 
"and  that  is  the  party  depression,  but  that  depression 
is  due  to  the  uncertainty  in  regard  to  the  political 
future  of  the  province.  When  once  we  hear  that  the 
railroad  is  being  built,  political  interest  will  revive." 

"May  I  ask  where  you  were  born?"  said  Sir  John. 

"In  Glengarry,"  said  Ranald,  with  a  touch  of  pride 
in  his  voice. 

"Ah,  I  am  afraid  your  people  are  not  great  admir- 
ers of  my  government,  and  perhaps  you,  Mr.  Macdon- 
ald, share  in  the  opinion  of  your  county." 

"I  have  no  opinion  in  regard  to  Dominion  politics. 
I  am  for  British  Columbia." 

454 


GLENGARRY    FOREVER 

"Well,  Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  Sir  John,  rising, 
"that  is  right,  and  you  ought  to  have  your  road." 

"Do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  the  government 
will  begin  to  build  the  road  at  once?"  said  Ranald. 

"Ah,"  smiled  Sir  John,  "I  see  you  want  some- 
thing definite." 

"I  have  come  two  thousand  miles  to  get  it.  The 
people  that  sent  me  will  be  content  with  nothing  else. 
It  is  a  serious  time  with  us,  and  I  believe  with  the 
whole  of  the  Dominion." 

"Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  Sir  John,  becoming  sud- 
denly grave,  "believe  me,  it  is  a  more  serious  time 
than  you  know,  but  you  trust  me  in  this  matter." 

"Will  the  road  be  begun  this  year?"  said  Ranald. 

"All  I  can  say  to-day,  Mr.  Macdonald,"  said  Sir 
John,  earnestly,  "is  this,  that  if  I  can  bring  it  about, 
the  building  of  the  road  will  be  started  at  once." 

"Then,  Sir  John,"  said  Ranald,  "you  may  depend 
that  British  Columbia  will  be  grateful  to  you,"  and 
the  interview  was  over. 

Outside  the  room,  he  found  Captain  De  Lacy 
awaiting  him. 

"By  Jove,  Macdonald,  I  have  been  waiting  here 
three-quarters  of  an  hour.  Come  along.  Maimie  has 
an  afternoon  right  on,  and  you  are  our  lion."  Ran- 
ald would  have  refused,  but  De  Lacy  would  not  accept 
any  apology,  and  carried  him  off. 

Maimie's  rooms  were  crowded  with  all  the  great 
social  and  political  people  of  the  city.  With  an  air 
of  triumph,  De  Lacy  piloted  Ranald  through  the 
and  presented  him  to  Maimie.  Ranald  was 
455 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

surprised  to  find  himself  shaking  hands  with  the 
woman  he  had  once  loved,  with  unquickened  pulse  and 
nerves  cool  and  steady.  Here  Maimie,  who  was  look- 
ing more  beautiful  than  ever,  and  who  was  dressed  in 
a  gown  of  exquisite  richness,  received  Ranald  with  a 
warmth  that  was  almost  enthusiastic. 

"How  famous  you  have  become,  Mr.  Macdonald," 
she  said,  offering  him  her  hand;  "we  are  all  proud  to 
say  that  we  know  you." 

"You  flatter  me,"  said  Ranald,  bowing  over  her 
hand. 

"No,  indeed.  Every  one  is  talking  of  the  young 
man  from  the  West.  And  how  handsome  you  are, 
Ranald,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  leaning  toward 
him,  and  flashing  at  him  one  of  her  old-time 
glances. 

"I  am  not  used  to  that,"  he  said,  "and  I  can  only 
reply  as  we  used  to  in  school,  'You,  too.'  ' 

"Oh,  now  you  flatter  me,"  cried  Maimie,  gayly; 
"but  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  dear  friend,  Lady 
Mary  Rivers.  Lady  Mary,  this  is  Mr.  Macdonald 
from  British  Columbia,  you  know." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Lady  Mary,  with  a  look  of  intelli- 
gence in  her  beautiful  dark  eyes,  "I  have  heard  a 
great  deal  about  you.  Let  me  see,  you  opposed 
separation;  saved  the  Dominion,  in  short." 

"Did  I,  really?"  said  Ranald,  "and  never  knew 
it." 

"You  see,  he  is  not  only  famous  but  modest,"  said 
Maimie;  "but  that  is  an  old  characteristic  of  his.  I 
knew  Mr.  Macdonald  a  very  long  time  ago." 

456 


GLENGARRY         FOREVER 

"Very,"  said  Ranald. 

"When  we  were  quite  young." 

"Very  young,"  replied  Ranald,  with  great  em- 
phasis. 

"And  doubtless  very  happy,"  said  Lady  Mary. 

"Happy,"  said  Ranald,  "yes,  so  happy  that  I  can 
hardly  bear  to  think  of  those  days." 

"Why  so?"  inquired  Lady  Mary. 

"Because  they  are  gone." 

"But  all  days  go  and  have  to  be  parted  with." 

"Oh,  yes,  Lady  Mary.  That  is  true  and  so  many 
things  die  with  them,  as,  for  instance,  our  youthful 
beliefs  and  enthusiasms.  I  used  to  believe  in  every 
one,  Lady  Mary." 

"And  now  in  no  one?" 

"God  forbid!     I  discriminate." 

"Now,  Lady  Mary,"  replied  Maimie,  "I  want  my 
lion  to  be  led  about  and  exhibited,  and  I  give  him 
over  to  you." 

Lr.  For  some  time  Ranald  stood  near,  chatting  to 
two  or  three  people  to  whom  Lady  Mary  had  intro- 
duced him,  but  listening  eagerly  all  the  while  to 
Maimie  talking  to  the  men  who  were  crowded  about 
her.  How  brilliantly  she  talked,  finding  it  quite  within 
her  powers  to  keep  several  men  busy  at  the  same  time; 
and  as  Ranald  listened  to  her  gay,  frivolous  talk,  more 
and  more  he  became  conscious  of  an  unpleasantness 
in  her  tone.  It  was  thin,  shallow,  and  heartless. 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that 
once  she  had  the  power  to  make  my  heart  quicken 
its  beat?" 

457 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"Tell  me  about  the  West,"  Lady  Mary  was  say- 
ing, when  Ranald  came  to  himself. 

"If  I  begin  about  the  West,"  he  replied,  "I  must 
have  both  time  and  space  to  deliver  myself. ' ' 

"Come,  then.  We  shall  find  a  corner,"  said  Lady 
Mary,  and  for  half  an  hour  did  Ranald  discourse  to 
her  of  the  West,  and  so  eloquently  that  Lady  Mary 
quite  forgot  that  he  was  a  lion  and  that  she  had  been 
intrusted  with  the  duty  of  exhibiting  him.  By  and 
by  Maimie  found  them. 

"Now,  Lady  Mary,  you  are  very  selfish,  for  so 
many  people  are  wanting  to  see  our  hero,  and  here  is 
the  premier  wanting  to  see  you." 

"Ah,  Lady  Mary,"  said  Sir  John,  "you  have  cap- 
tured the  man  from  Glengarry,  I  see." 

"I  hope  so,  indeed,"  said  Lady  Mary;  "but  why 
from  Glengarry?  He  is  from  the  West,  is  he 
not?" 

"Once  from  Glengarry,  now  from  the  West,  and  I 
hope  he  will  often  come  from  the  West,  and  he  will,  no 
doubt,  if  those  people  know  what  is  good  for  them." 
And  Sir  John,  skillfully  drawing  Ranald  aside,  led  him 
to  talk  of  the  political  situation  in  British  Columbia, 
now  and  then  putting  a  question  that  revealed  a 
knowledge  so  full  and  accurate  that  Ranald  exclaimed, 
suddenly,  "Why,  Sir  John,  you  know  more  about  the 
country  than  I  do!" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  replied  Sir  John;  and  then, 
lowering  his  voice  to  a  confidential  tone,  he  added, 
"You  are  the  first  man  from  that  country  that  knows 
what  I  want  to  know."  And  once  more  he  plied 

458 


GLENGARRY         FOREVER 

Ranald  with  questions,  listening  eagerly  and  intelli- 
gently to  the  answers  so  enthusiastically  given. 

"We  want  to  make  this  Dominion  a  great  empire," 
said  Sir  John,  as  he  said  good  by  to  Ranald,  "and  we 
are  going  to  do  it,  but  you  and  men  like  you  in  the 
West  must  do  your  part. 

Ranald  was  much  impressed  by  the  premier's  grave 
earnestness. 

"I  will  try,  Sir  John,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall  go 
back  feeling  thankful  that  you  are  going  to  show  us 
the  way." 

"Going  so  soon?"  said  Maimie,  when  he  came  to 
say  good  by.  "Why  I  have  seen  nothing  of  you,  and 
I  have  not  had  a  moment  to  offer  you  my  congratula- 
tions," she  said,  with  a  significant  smile.  Ranald 
bowed  his  thanks. 

"And  Kate,  dear  girl,"  went  on  Maimie,  "she 
never  comes  to  see  me  now,  but  I  am  glad  she  will  be 
so  happy." 

Ranald  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment  or  two, 
and  then  said,  quietly,  "I  am  sure  I  hope  so,  and 
Harry  is  a  very  lucky  chap." 

"Oh,  isn't  he,"  cried  Maimie,  "and  he  is  just  daft 
about  her.  Must  you  go?  I  am  so  sorry.  I  wanted 
to  talk  about  old  times,  the  dear  old  days."  The 
look  in  Maimie's  eyes  said  much  more  than  her  words. 

"Yes,"  said  Ranald,  with  an  easy,  frank  smile; 
"they  were  dear  days,  indeed;  I  often  think  of  them. 
And  now  I  must  really  go.  Say  good  by  to  De  Lacy 
for  me." 

He  came  away  from  her  with  an  inexplicable  feel- 
459 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

ing  of  exultation.  He  had  gone  with  some  slight 
trepidation  in  his  heart,  to  meet  her,  and  it  was  no 
small  relief  to  him  to  discover  that  she  had  lost  all 
power  over  him. 

"What  sort  of  man  could  I  have  been,  I  wonder?" 
he  asked  himself;  "and  it  was  only  three  years  ago." 

Near  the  door  Lady  Mary  stopped  him.  "Going 
so  early,  and  without  saying  good  by?"  she  said, 
reproachfully. 

"I  must  leave  town  to-night,"  he  replied,  "but  I 
am  glad  to  say  good  by  to  you." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  stay.  I  am  sure  His  Excel- 
lency wants  to  see  you." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  good  to  think  so,  but  I  am  also 
quite  sure  that  he  has  never  given  a  thought  to  my 
insignificant  self." 

"Indeed  he  has.  Now,  can't  you  stay  a  few  days? 
I  want  to  see  more — we  all  want  to  hear  more  about 
the  West." 

"You  will  never  know  the  West  by  hearing  of  it," 
said  Ranald,  offering  his  hand. 

"Good  by,"  she  said,  "I  am  coming." 

"Good,"  he  said,  "I  shall  look  for  you." 

As  Ranald  approached  his  hotel,  he  saw  a  man 
that  seemed  oddly  familiar,  lounging  against  the  door 
and  as  he  drew  near,  he  discovered  to  his  astonish- 
ment and  joy  that  it  was  Yankee. 

"Why,  Yankee!"  he  exclaimed,  rushing  at  him, 
"how  in  the  world  did  you  come  to  be  here,  and  what 
brought  you?" 

"Well,  I  came  for  you,  I  guess.     Heard  you  were 


GLENGARRY         FOREVER 

going  to  be  here  and  were  comin'  home  afterwards,  so 
I  thought  it  would  be  quicker  for  you  to  drive  straight 
across  than  to  go  round  by  Cornwall,  so  I  hitched  up 
Lizette  and  came  right  along." 

"Lizette!  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me?  How  is 
the  old  girl?  Yankee,  you  have  done  a  fine  thing. 
Now  we  will  start  right  away." 

"All  right,"  said  Yankee. 

"How  long  will  it  take  us  to  get  home?" 

"  'Bout  two  days  easy  goin',  I  guess.  Of  course 
if  you  want,  I  guess  we  can  do  it  in  a  day  and  a  half. 
She  will  do  all  you  tell  her." 

"Well,  we  will  take  two  days,"  said  Ranald. 

"I  guess  we  had  better  take  a  pretty  early  start," 
said  Yankee. 

"Can't  we  get  off  to-night?"  inquired  Ranald, 
eagerly.  "We  could  get  out  ten  miles  or  so." 

"Yes,"  replied  Yankee.  "There's  a  good  place 
to  stop,  about  ten  miles  out.  I  think  we  had  better 
go  along  the  river  road,  and  then  take  down  through 
the  Russell  Hills  to  the  Nation  Crossing." 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  off  on  their  two  days' 
trip  to  the  Indian  Lands.  And  two  glorious  days  they 
were.  The  open  air  with  the  suggestion  of  the  com- 
ing fall,  the  great  forests  with  their  varying  hues  of 
green  and  brown,  yellow  and  bright  red,  and  all  bathed 
in  the  smoky  purple  light  of  the  September  sun,  these 
all  combined  to  bring  to  Ranald's  heart  the  rest  and 
comfort  and  peace  that  he  so  sorely  needed.  And 
when  he  drove  into  his  uncle's  yard  in  the  late  after- 
noon of  the  second  day,  he  felt  himself  more  content 

461 


THE      MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

to  live  the  life  appointed  him ;  and  if  anything  more 
were  needed  to  strengthen  him  in  this  resolution,  and 
to  fit  him  for  the  fight  lying  before  him,  his  brief  visit 
to  his  home  brought  it  to  him.  It  did  him  good  to 
look  into  the  face  of  the  great  Macdonald  Bhain  once 
more,  and  to  hear  his  deep,  steady  voice  welcome  him 
home.  It  was  the  face  and  the  voice  of  a  man  who 
had  passed  through  many  a  sore  battle,  and  not  with- 
out honor  to  himself.  And  it  was  good,  too,  to 
receive  the  welcome  greetings  of  his  old  friends  and  to 
feel  their  pride  in  him  and  their  high  expectation  of 
him.  More  than  ever,  he  resolved  that  he  would  be 
a  man  worthy  of  his  race. 

His  visit  to  the  manse  brought  him  mingled  feel- 
ings of  delight  and  perplexity  and  jpain.  The  minis- 
ter's welcome  was  kind,  but  there  was  a  tinge  of 
self-complacent  pride  in  it.  Ranald  was  one  of  "his 
lads,"  and  he  evidently  took  credit  to  himself  for  the 
young  man's  success.  Hughie  regarded  him  with 
reserved  approval.  He  was  now  a  man  and  teaching 
school,  and  before  committing  himself  to  his  old-time 
devotion,  he  had  to  adjust  his  mind  to  the  new  con- 
ditions. But  before  the  evening  was  half  done  Ranald 
had  won  him  once  more.  His  tales  of  the  West,  and 
of  how  it  was  making  and  marring  men,  of  the  nation 
that  was  being  built  up,  and  his  picture  of  the  future 
that  he  saw  for  the  great  Dominion,  unconsciously 
revealed  the  strong  manhood  and  the  high  ideals  in 
the  speaker,  and  Hughie  found  himself  slipping  into 
the  old  attitude  of  devotion  to  his  friend. 

But  it  struck  Ranald  to  the  heart  to  see  the  marks 
462 


GLENGARRY         FOREVER 

of  many  a  long  day's  work  upon  the  face  of  the  woman 
who  had  done  more  for  him  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Her  flock  of  little  children  had  laid  upon  her 
a  load  of  care  and  toil,  which  added  to  the  burden  she 
was  already  trying  to  carry,  was  proving  more  than 
her  delicate  frame  could  bear.  There  were  lines  upon 
her  face  that  only  weariness  often  repeated  cuts  deep ; 
but  there  were  other  lines  there,  and  these  were  lines 
of  heart  pain,  and  as  Ranald  watched  her  closely,  with 
his  heart  running  over  with  love  and  pity  and  indig- 
nation for  her,  he  caught  her  frequent  glances  toward 
her  first  born  that  spoke  of  anxiety  and  fear. 

"Can  it  be  the  young  rascal  is  bringing  her  any- 
thing but  perfect  satisfaction  and  joy  in  return  for  the 
sacrifice  of  her  splendid  life?"  he  said  to  himself.  But 
no  word  fell  from  her  to  show  him  the  secret  of  her 
pain,  it  was  Hughie's  own  lips  that  revealed  him,  and 
as  the  lad  talked  of  his  present  and  his  future,  his 
impatience  of  control,  his  lack  of  sympathy  to  all 
higher  ideals,  his  determination  to  please  himself  to 
the  forgetting  of  all  else,  his  seeming  unconsciousness 
of  the  debt  he  owed  to  his  mother,  all  these  became 
easily  apparent.  With  difficulty  Ranald  restrained 
his  indignation.  He  let  him  talk  for  some  time  and 
then  opened  out  upon  him.  He  read  him  no  long 
lecture,  but  his  words  came  forth  with  such  fiery  heat 
that  they  burned  their  way  clear  through  all  the  faults 
and  flimsy  selfishness  of  the  younger  man  till  they 
reached  the  true  heart  of  him.  His  last  words  Hughie 
never  forgot. 

"Do  you  know,  Hughie,"  he  said,  and  the  fire  in 
463 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

his  eyes  seemed  to  burn  into  Hughie's,  "do  you 
know  what  sort  of  woman  you  have  for  a  mother? 
And  do  you  know  that  if  you  should  live  to  be  a  hun- 
dred years,  and  devoted  every  day  of  your  life  to  the 
doing  of  her  pleasure,  you  could  not  repay  the  debt 
you  owe  her?  Be  a  man,  Hughie.  Thank  God  for 
her,  and  for  the  opportunity  of  loving  and  caring  for 
her." 

The  night  of  his  first  visit  to  the  manse  Ranald  had 
no  opportunity  for  any  further  talk  with  the  minister's 
wife,  but  he  came  away  with  the  resolve  that  before 
his  week's  visit  was  over,  he  would  see  her  alone.  On 
his  return  home,  however,  he  found  waiting  him  a 
telegram  from  Colonel  Thorp,  mailed  from  Alexandria, 
announcing  an  early  date  for  the  meeting  of  share- 
holders at  Bay  City,  so  that  he  found  it  necessary  to 
leave  immediately  after  the  next  day,  which  was  the 
Sabbath.  It  was  no  small  disappointment  to  him 
that  he  was  to  have  no  opportunity  of  opening  his 
heart  to  his  friend.  But  as  he  sat  in  his  uncle's  seat 
at  the  side  of  the  pulpit,  from  which  he  could  catch 
sight  of  the  minister's  pew,  and  watched  the  look  of 
peace  and  quiet  courage  grow  upon  her  face  till  all  the 
lines  of  pain  and  care  were  quite  smoothed  out,  he 
felt  his  heart  fill  up  with  a  sense  of  shame  for  all  his 
weakness,  and  his  soul  knit  itself  into  the  resolve  that 
if  he  should  have  to  walk  his  way,  bearing  his  cross 
alone,  he  would  seek  the  same  high  spirit  of  faith  and 
patience  and  courage  that  he  saw  shining  in  her  gray- 
brown  eyes. 

After  the  service  he  walked  home  with  the  minis- 
464 


GLENGARRY    FOREVER 

ter's  wife,  seeking  opportunity  for  a  few  last  words 
with  her.  He  had  meant  to  tell  her  something  of  his 
heart's  sorrow  and  disappointment,  for  he  guessed 
that  knowing  and  loving  Kate  as  she  did,  she  would 
understand  its  depth  and  bitterness.  But  when  he 
told  her  of  his  early  departure,  and  of  the  fear  that  for 
many  years  he  could  not  return,  his  heart  was  smitten 
with  a  great  pity  for  her.  The  look  of  disappoint- 
ment and  almost  of  dismay  he  could  not  understand 
until,  with  difficulty,  she  told  him  how  she  had  hoped 
that  he  was  to  spend  some  weeks  at  home  and  that 
Hughie  might  be  much  with  him. 

"I  wish  he  could  know  you  better,  Ranald.  There 
is  no  one  about  here  to  whom  he  can  look  up,  and 
some  of  his  companions  are  not  of  the  best."  The 
look  of  beseeching  pain  in  her  eyes  was  almost  more 
than  Ranald  could  bear. 

"I  would  give  my  life  to  help  you,"  he  said,  in  a 
voice  hoarse  and  husky. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  simply;  "you  have  been  a 
great  joy  to  me,  Ranald,  and  it  will  always  comfort 
me  to  think  of  you,  and  of  your  work,  and  I  like  to 
remember,  too,  how  you  helped  Harry.  He  told  me 
much  about  you,  and  I  am  so  glad,  especially  as  he  is 
now  to  be  married." 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Ranald,  hurriedly;  "that  will 
be  a  great  thing  for  him."  Then,  after  a  pause,  he 
added:  "Mrs.  Murray,  the  West  is  a  hard  country  for 
young  men  who  are  not — not  very  firmly  anchored, 
but  if  at  any  time  you  think  I  could  help  Hughie  and 
you  feel  like  sending  him  to  me,  I  will  gladly  do  for 

465 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

him  all  that  one  man  can  do  for  another,  And  all  that 
I  can  do  will  be  a  very  poor  return  for  what  you  have 
done  for  me." 

"It's  little  I  have  done,  Ranald,"  she  said,  'and 
that  little  has  been  repaid  a  thousand- fold,  for  there 
is  no  greater  joy  than  that  of  seeing  my  boys  grow 
into  good  and  great  men  and  that  joy  you  have 
brought  me."  Then  she  said  good  by,  holding  his 
hand  long,  as  if  hating  to  let  him  go. 

"I  will  remember  your  promise,  Ranald,"  she  said, 

"for  it  may  be  that  some  day  I  shall  need  you."     And 

when  the  chance  came  to  Ranald  before  many  years 

had  gone,  he  proved  himself  not  unworthy  of  her  trust. 

*  #  *  *  * 

At  the  meeting  of  share-holders  of  the  British- 
American  Coal  and  Lumber  Company,  held  in  Bay 
City,  the  feeling  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  those  pres- 
ent was  one  of  wrath  and  indignation  at  Colonel  Thorp, 
for  he  still  clung  to  the  idea  that  it  would  be  unwise  to 
wind  up  the  British  Columbia  end  of  the  business.  The 
colonel's  speech  in  reply  was  a  triumph  of  diplomacy. 
He  began  by  giving  a  detailed  and  graphic  account  of 
his  trip  through  the  province,  lighting  up  the  narrative 
with  incidents  of  adventure,  both  tragic  and  comic,  to 
such  good  purpose  that  before  he  had  finished  his 
hearers  had  forgotten  all  their  anger.  Then  he  told 
of  what  he  had  seen  of  Ranald's  work,  emphasizing 
the  largeness  of  the  results  he  had  obtained  with  his 
very  imperfect  equipment.  He  spoke  of  the  high 
place  their  manager  held  in  the  esteem  of  the  com- 
munity as  witness  his  visit  to  Ottawa  as  representa- 

466 


GLENGARRY        FOREVER 

tive,  and  lastly  he  touched  upon  his  work  for  the  men 
by  means  of  the  libraries  and  reading-room.  Here  he 
was  interrupted  by  an  impatient  exclamation  on  the 
part  of  one  of  the  share-holders.  The  colonel  paused, 
and  fastening  his  eye  upon  the  impatient  share-holder, 
he  said,  in  tones  cool  and  deliberate:  "A  gentleman 
says,  'Nonsense!'  I  confess  that  before  my  visit  to 
the  West  I  should  have  said  the  same,  but  I  want  to 
say  right  here  and  now,  that  I  have  come  to  the 
opinion  that  it  pays  to  look  after  your  men — soul, 
mind,  and  body.  You'll  cut  more  lumber,  get  better 
contracts,  and  increase  your  dividends.  There  ain't 
no  manner  of  doubt  about  that.  Now,"  concluded 
the  colonel,  "you  may  still  want  to  close  up  that 
business,  but  before  you  do  so,  I  want  you  to  hear 
Mr.  Macdonald." 

After  some  hesitation,  Ranald  was  allowed  to  speak 
for  a  few  minutes.  He  began  by  expressing  his 
amazement  that  there  should  be  any  thought  on  the 
part  of  the  company  of  withdrawing  from  the  prov- 
ince at  the  very  time  when  other  firms  were  seeking  to 
find  entrance.  He  acknowledged  that  the  result  for 
the  last  years  did  not  warrant  any  great  confidence  in 
the  future  of  their  business,  but  a  brighter  day  had 
dawned,  the  railroad  was  coming,  and  he  had  in  his 
pocket  three  contracts  that  it  would  require  the  com- 
pany's whole  force  for  six  months  to  fulfill,  and  these 
contracts  would  be  concluded  the  day  the  first  rail 
was  laid. 

"And  when  will  that  be?"  interrupted  a  share- 
holder, scornfully. 

467 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

"I  have  every  assurance,"  said  Ranald,  quietly, 
"from  the  premier  himself,  that  the  building  of  the 
railroad  will  be  started  this  fall." 

"Did  Sir  John  A.  Macdonald  give  you  a  definite 
promise?"  asked  the  man,  in  surprise. 

"Not  exactly  a  promise,"  said  Ranald. 

A  chorus  of  scornful  "Ohs"  greeted  this  admission. 

"But  the  premier  assured  me  that  all  his  influence 
would  be  thrown  in  favor  of  immediate  construction." 

"For  my  part,"  replied  the  share-holder,  "I  place 
not  the  slightest  confidence  in  any  such  promise  as 
that." 

"And  I,"  said  Ranald,  calmly,  "have  every  con- 
fidence that  work  on  the  line  will  be  started  this  fall." 
And  then  he  went  on  to  speak  of  the  future  that  he 
saw  stretching  out  before  the  province  and  the  whole 
Dominion.  The  feeling  of  opposition  in  the  air 
roused  him  like  a  call  to  battle,  and  the  thought  that 
he  was  pleading  for  the  West  that  he  had  grown  to 
love,  stimulated  him  like  a  draught  of  strong  wine. 
In  the  midst  of  his  speech  the  secretary,  who  till  that 
moment  had  not  been  present,  came  into  the  room 
with  the  evening  paper  in  his  hand.  He  gave  it  to 
the  president,  pointing  out  a  paragraph.  At  once  the 
president,  interrupting  Ranald  in  his  speech,  rose  and 
said,  "Gentlemen,  there  is  an  item  of  news  here  that 
I  think  you  will  all  agree  bears  somewhat  directly 
upon  this  business."  He  then  read  Sir  John  A. 
Macdonald 's  famous  telegram  to  the  British  Columbia 
government,  promising  that  the  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way should  be  begun  that  fall.  After  the  cheers  had 

468 


GLENGARRY   FOREVER 

died  away,  Ranald  rose  again,  and  said,  "Mr.  Presi- 
dent and  gentlemen,  there  is  no  need  that  I  should 
say  anything  more.  I  simply  wish  to  add  that  I 
return  to  British  Columbia  next  week,  but  whether  as 
manager  for  this  company  or  not  that  is  a  matter  of 
perfect  indifference  to  me."  And  saying  this,  he  left 
the  room,  followed  by  Colonel  Thorp. 

"You're  all  right,  pardner,"  said  the  colonel, 
shaking  him  vigorously  by  the  hand,  "and  if  they 
don't  feel  like  playing  up  to  your  lead,  then,  by  the 
great  and  everlasting  Sammy,  we  will  make  a  new  deal 
and  play  it  alone!" 

"All  right,  Colonel,"  said  Ranald;  "I  almost  think 
I'd  rather  play  it  without  them  and  you  can  tell  them 
so." 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  said  the  colonel. 

"I've  got  to  go  to  Toronto  for  a  day,"  said  Ran- 
ald; "the  boys  are  foolish  enough  to  get  up  a  kind  of 
dinner  at  the  Albert,  and  besides,"  he  added,  reso- 
lutely, "I  want  to  see  Kate." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  the  colonel;  "anything  else 
would  be  meaner  than  snakes." 

But  when  Ranald  reached  Toronto,  he  found  dis- 
appointment awaiting  him.  The  Alberts  were  ready 
to  give  him  an  enthusiastic  reception,  but  to  his 
dismay  both  Harry  and  Kate  were  absent.  Harry 
was  in  Quebec  and  Kate  was  with  her  mother 
visiting  friends  at  the  Northern  Lake,  so  Ranald 
was  forced  to  content  himself  with  a  letter  of  farewell 
and  congratulation  upon  her  approaching  marriage. 
In  spite  of  his  disappointment,  Ranald  could  not  help 

469 


THE     MAN     FROM     GLENGARRY 

acknowledging  a  feeling  of  relief.  It  would  have  been 
no  small  ordeal  to  him  to  have  met  Kate,  to  have  told 
her  how  she  had  helped  him  during  his  three  years' 
absence,  without  letting  her  suspect  how  much  she  had 
become  to  him,  and  how  sore  was  his  disappointment 
that  she  could  never  be  more  than  friend  to  him,  and 
indeed,  not  even  that.  But  his  letter  was  full  of 
warm,  frank,  brotherly  congratulation  and  good 
will. 

The  dinner  at  the  Albert  was  in  every  way  worthy 
of  the  club  and  of  the  occasion,  but  Ranald  was  glad 
to  get  it  over.  He  was  eager  to  get  away  from  the 
city  associated  in  his  mind  with  so  much  that  was 
painful. 

At  length  the  last  speech  was  made,  and  the  last 
song  was  sung,  and  the  men  in  a  body  marched  to  the 
station  carrying  their  hero  with  them.  As  they  stood 
waiting  for  the  train  to  pull  out,  a  coachman  in  livery 
approached  little  Merrill. 

"A  lady  wishes  to  see  Mr.  Macdonald,  sir,"  he 
said,  touching  his  hat. 

"Well,  she's  got  to  be  quick  about  it,**  said  Mer- 
rill. "Here,  Glengarry,"  he  called  to  Ranald,  "a  lady 
is  waiting  outside  to  see  you,  but  I  say,  old  chap,  you 
will  have  to  make  it  short,  I  guess  it  will  be  sweet 
enough." 

"Where  is  she?"  said  Ranald  to  the  coachman. 

"In  here,  sir,"  conducting  him  to  the  ladies'  wait- 
ing-room, and  taking  his  place  at  the  door  outside. 
Ranald  hurried  into  the  room,  and  there  stood  Kate. 

"Dear  Kate!"  he  cried,  running  toward  her  with 
470 


GLENGARRY        FOREVER 

both  hands  outstretched,  "this  is  more  than  kind  of 
you,  and  just  like  your  good  heart." 

"I  only  heard  last  night,  Ranald,"  she  said,  "from 
Maimie,  that  you  were  to  be  here  to-day,  and  I  could 
not  let  you  go."  She  stood  up  looking  so  brave  and 
proud,  but  in  spite  of  her,  her  lips  quivered. 

"I  have  waited  to  see  you  so  long,"  she  said,  "and 
now  you  are  going  away  again." 

"Don't  speak  like  that,  Kate,"  said  Ranald, 
"don't  say  those  things.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  you 
have  helped  me  these  three  lonely  years,  but  I  can't, 
and  you  will  never  know,  and  now  I  am  going  back. 
I  hardly  dared  to  see  you,  but  I  wish  you  everything 
that  is  good.  I  haven't  seen  Harry  either,  but  you 
will  wish  him  joy  for  me.  He  is  a  very  lucky  fel- 
low." 

By  this  time  Ranald  had  regained  control  of  him- 
self, and  was  speaking  in  a  tone  of  frank  and  brotherly 
affection.  Kate  looked  at  him  with  a  slightly  puzzled 
air. 

"I've  seen  Maimie,"  Ranald  went  on,  "and  she 
told  me  all  about  it,  and  I  am — yes,  I  am  very  glad." 
Still  Kate  looked  a  little  puzzled,  but  the  minutes 
were  precious,  and  she  had  much  to  say. 

"Oh,  Ranald!"  she  cried,  "I  have  so  much  to  say 
to  you.  You  have  become  a  great  man,  and  you  are 
good.  I  am  so  proud  when  I  hear  of  you, ' '  and  lower- 
ing her  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  "I  pray  for  you 
every  day." 

As  Ranald  stood  gazing  at  the  beautiful  face,  and 
noticed  the  quivering  lips  and  the  dark  eyes  shining 


THE      MAN      FROM      GLENGARRY 

with  tears  she  was  too  brave  to  let  fall,  he  felt  that  he 
was  fast  losing  his  grip  of  himself. 

"Oh,  Kate,"  he  cried,  in  a  low,  tense  voice,  "I 
must  go.  You  have  been  more  to  me  than  you  will 
ever  know.  May  you  both  be  happy." 

"Both?"  echoed  Kate,  faintly. 

"Yes,"  cried  Ranald,  hurriedly,  "Harry  will,  I'm 
sure,  for  if  any  one  can  make  him  happy,  you  can. 

"I?"  catching  her  breath,  and  beginning  to  laugh 
a  little  hysterically. 

"What's  the  matter,  Kate?  You  are  looking 
white." 

"Oh,"  cried  Kate,  her  voice  broken  between  a  sob 
and  a  laugh,  "won't  Harry  and  Lily  enjoy  this?" 

Ranald  gazed  at  her  in  fear  as  if  she  had  suddenly 
gone  mad. 

"Lily?"  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  Lily,"  cried  Kate;  "didn't  you  know  Lily 
Langford,  Harry's  dearest  and  most  devoted?" 

"No,"  said  Ranald;  "and  it  is  not  you?" 

"Not  me,"  cried  Kate,  "not  in  the  very  least." 

"Oh,  Kate,  tell  me,  is  this  all  true?  Are  you  still 
free?  And  is  there  any  use?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Kate,  dancing  about 
in  sheer  joy,  "you  silly  boy." 

By  this  time  Ranald  had  got  hold  of  her  hands. 

"Look  here,  old  chap,"  burst  in  Merrill,  "your 
train's  going.  Oh,  beg  pardon." 

"Take  the  next,  Ranald." 

"Merrill,"  said  Ranald,  solemnly,  "tell  the  fellows 
I'm  not  going  on  this  train." 

473 


G   L   E   N    G   A   R   R   Y          FOREVER 

"Hoorah!"  cried  little  Merrill,  "I  guess  I'll  tell 
'em  you  are  gone.  May  I  tell  the  fellows,  Kate?" 

"What?"  said  Kate,  blushing  furiously. 

"Yes,  Merrill,"  cried  Ranald,  in  a  voice  strident 
with  ecstasy,  "you  may  tell  them.  Tell  the  whole 
town." 

Merrill  rushed  to  the  door.  "I  say,  fellows,"  he 
cried,  "look  here." 

The  men  came  trooping  at  his  call,  but  only  to  see 
Ranald  and  Kate  disappearing  through  the  other  door. 

"He's  not  going,"  cried  Merrill,  "he's  gone.  By 
J ove !  They ' ve  both  gone. ' ' 

"I  say,  little  man,"  said  big  Starry  Hamilton, 
"call  yourself  together  if  you  can.  Who've  both  gone? 
In  short,  who  is  the  lady?" 

"Why,  Kate  Raymond,  you  blessed  idiot!"  cried 
Merrill,  rushing  for  the  door,  followed  by  the  whole 
crowd. 

"Three  cheers  for  Macdonald!"  cried  Starry  Hamil- 
ton, as  the  carriage  drove  away,  and  after  the  three 
cheers  and  the  tiger,  little  Merrill's  voice  led  them  in 
the  old  battle-cry,  heard  long  ago  on  the  river,  but 
afterward  on  many  a  hard-fought  foot-ball  field, 
"Glengarry  forever!" 


473 


TJBRARY 


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IBIUIPIPI"11"111""         ^  g    y 


